


Eff the Ineffable

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [7]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘<i>Eff the ineffable</i>,’ Danny thought darkly. “Guides.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Comments:  
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel AU fusion  
> 3) Spoilers: none  
> 4) Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit. 
> 
> Springwoof betaed with the finest of toothed combs, and it is much, much, much appreciated – thank you, Babe.

**Eff the Ineffable**  
By Sealie 

 

**Prologue**

The plaintive notes reached higher and higher as Steve’s flute practicing slid up the scale. Danny breathed in light sea air, and relaxed further into the lounger with every satisfied note. Each individual sound was akin to the smoothest whisky soothing Danny’s way through the world. Quiet and precise, the music drifted out through the open balcony doors above Danny’s head. He could almost picture each tightly constrained note drifting like puffs of clouds towards the horizon -- which made his sentinel sight and sound meld together in a synaesthesia-like whole. 

The improvement in Steve’s flute practice was palpable. A birthday gift of lessons was possibly the best present that Danny had bought in his entire life, up to and including the giant teddy bear that he had bought Grace when she had been five. Steve had taken to the lessons like a scurvy sailor being offered an orange. 

Steve. 

If Danny was to put one word on the changes that had been wrought, he would have said that Steve had _blossomed_. 

He was even, he was happier, he was content. 

“Hello, the house?” Chin’s honeyed tones echoed across the lanai. 

Danny twisted on his chair, and lifted his arm, catching Chin’s attention. Chin came straight across the sand to the pair of deckchairs -- Danny and Steve’s. 

Chin pointed at the balcony above their heads. 

“Hmmm,” Danny simply said, acknowledging that, yes, Steve was making music in the little study by their bedroom that had become Steve’s music room.

Chin dropped onto Steve’s seat.

“We got a case?” Danny asked, even though he didn’t think so. Chin always left the openings for conversation rather than starting them, although he did, in fact, start them without words.

“No.” Chin eyed him. “I was driving past and I saw a large truck parked outside. I just wanted to make sure --?” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy next door are moving back to their daughter’s in Colorado. She’s had twins.” Danny grinned wryly. “No one is kidnapping us and whisking us away to Sentinel Central on the Mainland. They’re renting, not selling.”

“Okay.” 

Steve’s practice switched to picking out a tune. Danny didn’t recognise it. The biggest hurdle that Steve had had to overcome was that he had remembered when playing had been effortless -- learning a new song had been like learning to fly. Danny had likened it to needing physiotherapy after being injured in the course of duty. Steve had swallowed that thought as if eating a rancid fly, but had reapplied himself to rediscovering that which he had lost. 

“Steve’s playing the flute,” Chin said, perplexed. 

Danny honestly enjoyed his confusion, because why was it so insane that Steve liked the flute? Once you thought about it for a moment, your arguments were derailed. 

“I think that he played when he was a kid?” Chin hedged. “John said something?” 

Danny shrugged. The picture that he had in his head of John McGarrett was inconsistent, built on what he ascertained, and what Steve said. John McGarrett was a hard ass; Steve craved his approval -- which he had never gotten. John loved him but had sent Steve away. 

People were complicated. 

“Yep.” Danny shuffled down his chair, lounging a little more comfortably. 

“That’s--” Chin squirmed. 

Whoops, Steve had picked a piece that was low and sad. Tears pricking in his eyes, Danny’s heart clenched. 

“Steve?” he said softly. “Tone it down.” 

There was a fillip of _oops_ and the tune flipped to a spritely and jaunty jig. 

“What?” Chin sat up straight on his chair. 

“What was it my Nonna used to say: music soothes the savage beast. He forgets.”

“Steve’s manipulating emotions with his music?” Chin shifted on the hard seat. 

“Isn’t that generally what music does?” Danny said unconcerned. “You’ve been to concerts.” 

“But I don’t expect to start crying,” Chin said with an uncharacteristic edge. 

“Clearly you’ve never heard Queen’s ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’,” Danny said drolly. 

“Have you spoken to Kahuna Kila?” Chin persisted. 

“He thought that it was a good idea.” Danny rolled his eyes; they had dispensed with regular, twice-weekly sessions with the kahuna la'au lapa'au advising them. He was now one of the family: Kila came to ‘Ohana barbeques; his son Little Ford had the cutest of crushes on Grace; Danny could pick up the phone at any time and chew his ear, and they had actually babysat Ford several times. It was a little creepy the way that Kila always said that he was honoured. But until Chin was more comfortable with the _concept_ of Sentinel and Guides, Danny would bounce ideas off Kila. 

“Fair enough,” Chin said in his phlegmatic way. 

“You staying for dinner? Steve got some tuna.” 

“Sure. Malia’s got a late shift and the baby’s with her mother.” 

            ~*~

**Part one**

Danny pulled his Camaro in next to Steve’s monster truck and smoothly came to a halt. He had had a meeting with Rachel and Grace’s teacher, going over Grace’s report card. An uncharacteristic blot on her normally excellent English marks had prompted a meeting. Subsequently, Grace was being moved out of Mrs. Milburn’s class and into Ms. Chester’s class. Mrs. Milburn, in Danny psychiatric opinion, needed help, and until she got it, Grace wasn’t going to be in her sphere of influence. Grace, following the rule of omertà, had closed down like a winkle in a shell. But Danny was a trained detective. Mrs. Milburn’s tendency to throw tennis balls and occasionally erasers at pupils with whom she was unhappy was not something that Danny would tolerate. 

There was an unfamiliar car parked outside Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy’s home, and the trunk was open. Danny eyed the invitation to thieves, and decided to wait until he met their new neighbours. The vehicle was a rental judging from the tiny label on the bumper. Kamekona’s was one of the few businesses on the island that rented cars, apartments and the occasional lot. Their new neighbours had some cash to back them. 

A middle-aged white guy strode out of the Abernathy’s porch. Unconcerned and on a mission, moving straight to the car parked on the drive. Danny catalogued automatically: rumpled slacks and shirt; judging by the odour, worn for longer than twenty four hours; good quality clothes -- not a vagrant.

“Oh, hey.” The man smiled, toothily, and immediately angled around the vehicle coming down the drive to meet Danny. “Are you one of my neighbours?” 

“Danny Williams. I live next door.” Danny met him halfway, hand outstretched. 

The new neighbour’s hand was broad, and fit into Danny’s neatly. He had a good, comforting grip, not too tight, not too soft. Eye to eye -- similar in height -- Danny noted that his neighbour’s eyes were a darker blue. Gauging automatically -- always an observant cop, it wasn’t just about being a sentinel -- Danny put his age in the mid-forties. Where Danny’s own hair was sun-topped blond, the guy’s closely cropped curls were a pale, washed out dark brown threaded with coarse grey strands. His toothy smile was open and trusting.

“Sebastian. Seb Kurtz. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you prefer Seb or Sebastian?” Danny released his hand. 

“Don’t mind. Either or. Danny? Or Daniel, I guess?”

“Always Danny. You just moving in? From the Mainland?” Danny asked unnecessarily, because skin that pale was definitely Mainland pale, and from the northern latitudes. His accent was difficult to judge?

“Yep, Boston.” 

Danny had thought Seattle, so way off and then some. 

“Why Hawaii?” 

“Oh, here for work. I travel a lot -- all over. My family’s from Boston, but I’ve been to most places in Pan North.” 

That might explain the uneven lilt to his words if he travelled regularly throughout the American, European and African territories. 

“Work?” Danny angled his thumb at the open trunk. “Do you need a hand with stuff?” 

“Nah, last bag. I was going to do the lazy man load, and then I remembered that I like my back, so I left the last bag.” Sebastian grabbed the bag and slammed the trunk shut. He clicked the key fob in his pocket, and the lights flashed twice as the rusty rental car locked. “I’d invite you in for a beer. But I don’t have any groceries. Hey, you’ll know, where’s the best, closest market?” 

“Turn onto Kamaile Street.” Danny pointed left up Piikoi Street. “Take the second left and drive to the end of the road. There’s a mom and pop store that stocks bread, milk, malasadas -- everything that you need at ten o’clock after a long day at work.” 

“Malasadas?”

“Donut things, Awesome.” 

“Okay, cool, thanks. I’m going to dump this bag, and then head straight out. Is it close enough to walk? Gas is expensive here. And, I’ve been trapped in flying tin cans all day and air conditioned airports, I’d like to stretch my legs.” 

“Fifteen minutes.” 

“Perfect. Nice to meet you, Danny.” Sebastian shook Danny’s hand again. 

“If you need anything, we’re next door,” Danny said, good-neighbourly. 

“We?” Sebastian smiled. 

“Yeah, me and my partner, Steve,” Danny said, levelly. 

“Oh?” Unconsciously, Sebastian glanced towards their house. 

There was a blip of interest that Danny read as a pinch in his pupils and a sharpness in his gaze. Danny couldn’t properly gauge it -- that was Steve’s domain. It wasn’t the norm, but there were incidences of weird phobes scurrying in the wainscoting. But Danny didn’t register any embarrassed or irritated flush over Seb’s cheekbones.

“You here on your own?” Danny asked. He thought so because he couldn’t hear anyone in close proximity other than a quiet and uncharacteristically still Steve. 

“Yep.” Sebastian nodded. 

“We’ll be on the lanai until later. The Abernathys’ backyard kind of abuts ours when the tide’s out.” 

Sebastian wrinkled his nose, perplexed. 

“The veranda out back.” Danny sketched a rectangular porch in midair. “You’ve got a beach. Our yards are separated by trees. I don’t know what kind. They’re green and bushy. Come round later if the jet lag doesn’t hit. We’ve always got beer.” 

“Yeah, I will. Thanks.” Sebastian nodded. “It will be nice to meet you both.” 

Danny waved him ‘bye’ as he headed down his path. He angled around the house, rather than using the front door. Avoiding the scaffolding shoring up the south wall, the last repair that they had to make post the tsunami, Danny focused on his goal. He wasn’t sensing, as expected, Steve practicing or swimming out in the ocean, but tracked a heartbeat at rest around to the lanai. 

“Aww.” Danny stopped. 

Grace had decided that the lanai needed a hammock. Steve, of course, had weaved a Nicaraguan-style hammock out of a couple of bracing poles and a hank of twine he had in the garage. Grace loved it. 

And so did Steve. 

Grace loved curling up in its folds with her latest book.

Generally, Steve basked like a lizard, shirt off, hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankle. Today, though, he was spark out, in a loose comma. Bootless, he was still wearing his ubiquitous cargo pants and t-shirt. 

It was kind of endearing. And spoke of a long day. 

Vel was curled in a protective ball under the shade of the hammock. Her tail thumped in welcome.

“Hey, girl.” Danny crouched, hands outstretched. “Steve picked you up from Mrs. Donavan’s -- the kids wore you out. Eh?” 

She ran over, tush wiggling in eagerness to greet her second favourite person. 

“I’m guessing that the doofus didn’t manage to feed you before he took his nap?” Danny doubted it, because his boots might be piled under the hammock, but he had one sock on. The evidence pointed to a scenario where Steve sat on the hammock to pull off his stinky boots before going into the house, and then lay back in the string cradle.

Food was the order of the day. Vel concurred, eagerly tagging at Danny’s heels. 

            ~*~

Grill or pasta, Danny pondered, hanging off the door of the fridge to consider the Steve-offerings within -- protein, protein, protein and veggies. Takeout was an alternative. He wasn’t a great fan of takeout food, because only a few restaurants passed the sentinel sense test. It was frankly disturbing how many restaurants failed the sentinel sense test. He was tired, though. 

Vel, head canted, ear flopping to the side, waited patiently. 

“I suppose we could --” Danny grabbed the two steaks off the bottom shelf. “Tomatoes, Vel? Ooh, corn. “ 

Dinner decided -- grilled ribeye steak, griddled tomatoes and corn on the cob with butter -- Danny set the makings on the counter. 

“And for you, Vel, premium beef and chicken chunks in a rich gravy with kibble.”

Vel woofed, enthusiastically. 

Danny wandered back to the lanai to light the grill. They had fought over the grill. Fire and charcoal appealed to Steve on a Neolithic level. Danny liked the convenience of gas. They both agreed that expensive store-bought chemical soaked tray grills were out. It wasn’t even a fight. Danny pushed a match through the metal work into the prepared tinder. It would take a while to heat up the coals. Danny lowered the lid to a crack. 

Steve was still undisturbed. Vulnerable and deeply asleep. 

Danny angled over to Steve’s side to palm his forehead. Temperature was okay. 

“Steve, have you been influencing people after I went to Grace’s teachers’ meeting? Steven?” 

Steve mumbled and cracked open an eye to regard him sleepily. 

“Babe?” Danny licked his thumb, and swiped it across Steve’s temple, and briefly returned his thumb to his mouth. 

“Danny,” Steve whined. 

Water, salt, the tang of minerals -- but none of the flat, toxic bite that Danny associated with Steve being an idiot and overstretching the meagre control that he had on his empathy. 

“Did you catch Manny?” Danny asked about their latest case. Manny was an annoying human being who deserved to be caught and given a very painful wedgie or four. 

“Yep, chase through grounds of the university.” Steve stretched, shirt riding up over his tummy. “A professor was making the ice in his lab. Got them both.” 

“Did you?” Danny wiggled his fingers by his temple. 

“No,” Steve said a little sullenly. 

“Did you want to?” Danny pursed his lips. 

“No,” Steve said with his frank honestly. The wealth of feeling that he could bestow on a single, truculent word was weighty. 

“Why are you tired?” 

“Long week?” Steve closed his eyes and flopped. It had indeed been a long week. Lots of chasing. Lots of running. Lots of hot sun and boring stakeouts. Friday night was very welcome. 

“Okay, Babe.” Danny palmed his forehead again. “It’s gonna take twenty minutes before the grill’s ready. You want a beer?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, long eyelashes gently sweeping. 

Danny figured that Steve would be asleep by the time he returned with the beer so he decided not to bother. Danny moseyed back into the kitchen to pre-soak the corn before grilling the husks.

            ~*~

“Stand down. On your knees!”

Danny swept up his gun from the kitchen counter and barrelled out through the living room and dining area. It took at least four long seconds. Thought equalled motion, automatic clasped between his hands, he blasted through the open doors and out on to the lanai. 

Their new neighbour stood in the middle of the beach hands stretched far above his head, fingers splayed. 

“Don’t shoot,” Sebastian squeaked, “Please!” 

“Steve!” Danny yelled. “Stand down!”

Steve had Sebastian in his sights. 

“State your purpose?” Steve insisted robotically. 

“Uhm, I came to ask a question?” Sebastian sounded unsure. He shook. 

“Steve? Steve?” Danny made a wide circle coming into Steve’s line of sight. It appeared that Seb had awoken a soundly sleeping Steve; never a good thing under any circumstances. A stranger walking up upon Steve was a recipe for disaster. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Seb’s our new neighbour. I invited him over for a beer. He’s renting the Abernathy house.” 

Steve stared at Danny as if he was an interesting organism found under one of Grace’s stones when the pair of them went poking around on the rocky sea shores. 

“Babe? Are you awake?” Danny probed. “Steven?” 

“Danny?” Steve lowered his weapon to point it at the sand. 

“Thank you.” Seb scrabbled his fingers into his hair. 

“Sorry,” Steve grated. 

“I’m hoping that you guys are cops?” Sebastian said. “Otherwise, I’m really, really sorry and I’ll --”

“We’re 5O,” Steve rapped. 

“And what’s that? Not a gang? Please tell me that it’s not a gang?”

“Hawaii state governor’s task force,” Danny said. “Police.” 

“For real?” 

“Real.” Steve flipped up his t-shirt up and gestured at his gold 5O badge on his belt with his finger -- tap, tap. 

“Dude, you need to learn how to relax.” Sebastian sagged. “If my bubbe had come with me you’d’a given her a heart attack.” 

“Bubbeh? Who’s Bubbeh?” 

“Grandmother.” Danny smacked Steve’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Put your gun away!” 

Steve shoved it back in his waist holster. 

“You wanted something?” Steve snapped. 

“Manners!” Danny rebuked. It was like having a truculent toddler. “You’ll have to excuse him; he’s just up from his nap.” 

Steve glowered. 

“I’m really sorry.” Seb splayed his hands. “A light blew and the fuses went. But I can’t find the fuse box. I’ve looked in the usual places, but couldn’t find it. I guessed since your house looks sort of similar, architecturally speaking, you might have an idea?”

“Steve?” Danny asked, because the Abernathy family had lived next door for decades and he guessed that Steve had been a visitor especially when their daughter was younger. Steve had also loaned a hand during the recent repairs needed in the aftermath of the wave that had rocked ‘Oahu, and all of the other Islands of Hawaii. 

“You didn’t look very hard,” Steve said cursorily. “There’s a box in the garage. “

“Look, I apologise for him. He’s a bear when he’s woken up.” Danny turned Steve in the direction of the barbeque and gave him a sharp push between the shoulder blades. “Put the steaks on the grill, I’ll help Seb.”

“No.” Steve eeled away from the direction of Danny’s push. “I’ll go. I know where it is. I’ll be right back.” 

He stalked off. Seb regarded Steve and flicked a worried glance back at Danny. 

_You’ll be fine_ , Danny mouthed. _He’s just tired and hungry_. 

Plainly dubious, Seb trailed in Steve’s wake, leaving a lot of space. 

Mentally, Danny added some shrimp skewers to their planned evening meal, and decided to quickly make some peanut dressing, because he had figured out that a hungry Steve was a weird Steve. He would make him drink some V8 when he came back from terrorising Seb. 

            ~*~

Steve looked at the plate of food that Danny set in front of him and glanced back up at Danny. 

“I don’t think that even I can eat this much,” he observed, nostrils flaring. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it, animal.” Danny picked up a skewer and delicately nipped off the first plump shrimp with his teeth. “Surf and turf, Babe, it’s a classic.” 

“Animal. Babe.” Steve also went for the shrimp, and smacked his lips as he chomped. His table manners were atrocious when he was hungry. Mopping up gloopy chunks of satay sauce, he polished through the two lines of shrimp like a refuse compactor. The first mouthful of steak was met with a hum of pleasure. It was a train wreck. 

Danny watched and, under his scrutiny, the colour returned to Steve’s cheeks and the skin on his drawn face actually plumped out. Steve raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Are you sure that you didn’t--” Danny spider-wiggled his fingers at his temple, “--today? No emotional manipulation of poor unsuspecting perps that you were angry at?” 

Steve paused, cheek bulging like a chipmunk, as he mentally ran through his day. He shook his head. Swallowing mightily around his mouthful, he volunteered, 

“I’m allowed to be tired, aren’t I?” 

That was actually remarkably mature for Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett, US Navy. Getting him to admit to being anything other than perfectly fine was usually a battle of monumental proportions. 

“It has been a long week,” Danny agreed, and relaxed a little further into the bliss of a quiet weekend stretching before them. The fairy lights around the lanai (Grace’s idea) flicked on, the solar lights responding to dusk. Danny checked the world around him: the drone of cars; the murmur of voices; a flock of birds chirping; the clank of pots that was Mr. Kalo preparing dinner for his horde three houses over; water filling a bath, and a baby’s chortle. All the noises signalled a peaceful corner of a sentinel territory. 

“You want a beer?” Danny stood. 

“Do we have any red wine?”

“Wine?” Danny stepped back a fraction; that was a different choice. “I think I saw a dusty bottle of Bordeaux in the wine rack. I’ll check.” 

The wine was an Argentinean Malbec and was thick with dust. Danny held his breath as he wiped it down with a wetted towel. The cork popped very satisfyingly. Danny wafted his hand over the top and sniffed to get a sense of the wine. The illegally imported wine was deeply chocolaty with black cherry and the acid tang of tannins. It wasn’t classed as Sentinel safe, but it was undoubtedly an expensive, aged red, made the old fashioned way without sulphites. Deciding to try the wine, Danny grabbed two glasses. He suspected that it was a leftover from Steve’s painfully naïve attempts to woo Catherine. Danny was going to quaff it and enjoy every mouthful. 

            ~*~

Danny read as Steve snuffled on his side of the bed. The benefits of sentinel sight were many and varied, and reading in the dark of night was one of them. As he read he swept the immediate area -- all was clear. Soon he would sleep. It was well documented that Sentinels slept less than average. Guides, Danny suspected, slept more. 

Hmmm. 

As was his habit, Steve’s foot twitched, his fingers twitched, and he mumbled. Fidget McFidget. There was something up, but Danny had been at Grace’s school for most of the afternoon. He should have called Kono or Chin. But Steve hadn’t been dissembling; as far as he was aware their afternoon hadn’t been unusual by 5O’s reckoning. Of course, 5O’s reckoning was pretty weird, and open to interpretation. 

Were all guides fidgety? Danny sometimes wished that he could call Sentinel Central and get answers. In another universe, maybe. The Mainland bureaucracy had petitioned the Hawaiian State to release their current sentinel and guide for standard examination. But the governor had cited the ongoing recovery efforts since the tsunami and need for surveillance as reasons not to relinquish their only team. Danny didn’t want to give Sentinel Central any excuse to extract them from the Islands. It galled because he would have liked to visit his parents, and his parents’ last two petitions to travel to ‘Oahu had been refused. 

Danny suspected that their Skype chats were monitored. But since it was electronic, sentinel senses didn’t help identify any tapping. All Chin could confirm was that it wasn’t secure. Oh, Chin could set up a secure, bouncing connection _to_ his parents. But anything that his parents set up was suspect, since Danny had come by his total lack of technical acumen honestly. 

Sweep, all clear. 

“Plutocracy,” Steve muttered. “I prefer a benevolent dictatorship.” 

Danny eyed him. 

“Nope,” Steve popped the ‘p’. 

Honestly, Danny hadn’t a clue what went on in his idiot’s brain. Dreams were always a little askew. Danny set his book aside -- he was pretty sure who the murderer was in the latest O’Brien novel -- and shuffled down. He flipped onto his side, and regarded Steve’s patrician profile. 

“I do not agree,” Steve said authoritatively. “Not here.” 

Sleep talking or magically talking to someone? His mom had spoken of spirit guides when she had visited. Danny pretty much thought that the spiritual side of the sentinel-guide equation was horse pucky. But the guide orientated literature that they had access or had managed to get their hands on skirted the paranormal when talking about the guide abilities. 

It was so utterly frustrating. Danny liked cold hard facts. Steve, actually, was as spiritual as a brick. 

Although, that was a little unfair. He had argued when Danny had entered the heiau; sensitive of people’s perceptions and beliefs. Danny had known that there were no spirits present, even though he had felt cursed afterwards. 

Danny grumbled under his breath. 

He hated the spiritual side. 

“Damn it,” Danny said. It was the depth of night that got him thinking about the intangible. Danny checked the world was on an even keel; no intrusions. 

“Ko`a.” Steve startled, and sat bolt upright. 

“Hey, Babe.” Danny didn’t move a muscle, surprised at the suddenness of Steve’s motion. 

“I need to piss,” Steve overshared, and threw back his blankets. He angled toward their bathroom with the surety of walking in your own home. Danny let the sounds wash over him, the flow of urine, a tinkle hitting the porcelain bowl, the flush of the toilet, and splash of water. Steve returned with the same automaton motion of the not-truly-awake. 

“You okay?” Danny reached out as Steve clambered into bed. 

Steve grumbled under his breath. He snugged in tight against Danny’s side, lying on his stomach, face mashed into his pillow. 

“Danny.” He snaked an arm around Danny, snuffled, and was instantly deeply asleep. 

Danny was now not going anywhere, so he closed his eyes, and sought sleep. 

            ~*~

The coffee pot was perking for Danny when he finally deigned to stagger downstairs for breakfast. A tray with a couple of bowls of diced fruit, one _sans_ pineapple, a plate of cold cuts, cheese, butter and fresh bread, covered with a vintage floral cake cover sat by the pot. 

Danny grabbed a container of yoghurt from the fridge to dump on his breakfast fruit. He collected the coffee, two mugs, and the tray before wandering out onto the lanai to stare at the annoying blue of the ocean and the pallid yellow of the narrow beach. 

He set their breakfast on the lanai table rather than down by their deck chairs on the beach, preferring to eat in a more seated than lounging position. 

Velvet was rooting around in the bushes, terrorising sticks, neighbours’ cats or some other sort of Hawaiian wildlife. 

Steve was at least three hundred yards out, dolphin-kicking through the choppy water. There was a pressure system some four hundred miles south west of their position pushing a dense weather front. By tomorrow evening there would be heavy rains hitting the island. At the moment only the water was telegraphing its far off presence. 

The coffee was perfect with just a hint of cinnamon -- the way that he liked it. 

Steve jack-knifed in the water, turning back to shore. Danny figured that he would hit the beach in two comfortable minutes. He poured out Steve’s coffee. 

Steve, the ass, knew how attractive he was as he emerged from the water. He wore his turquoise blue trunks, so Steve was thinking about hanky panky in the hammock. 

Danny toasted him with his mug. 

Abruptly, Steve scowled and stomped up the beach. 

“Hey, Babe.” Danny remained slumped in his seat and held Steve’s coffee at arms length. 

“Sebastian is practising yoga on the Abernathy’s lanai,” Steve growled. 

Danny blinked. That had come out of left field. 

“It's okay, Babe,” Danny said, as he checked that, yes, their new neighbour was doing ridiculous contortions on his decking. “You can also do your yoga stuff, it's not a competition.” 

"Thanks," Steve said, so flatly that his tone could have been used as a carpenter’s level.

“Don’t be such a grump.” Danny put Steve’s coffee on the table and pulled the net cover off their breakfast. 

Perfunctorily, Steve dried off with the towel draped over his chair, and plopped down. Danny didn’t grimace as he dumped a spoonful of butter in his coffee. They had had that fight. Danny thought that it was too oily to drink. The fight over whether they had salted butter or non-salted butter in the fridge had been monumental. Steve had won. 

“What are we up to today?” Steve asked as he picked at his fruit with his fingers. “We’ve got the kids next weekend.” 

“Boring stuff, I guess; defeat the pile of laundry; mop the kitchen floor; scrub the counters; trash….” 

“Done, done, done, and done. Okay, the laundry’s running.” 

“I guess,” Danny said, because he knew his Steve very well, “we could go hiking then, but we will have to stop by the farmer’s market on the way back.” 

“Deal. You clean the bathrooms.”

Such was the mundane life of a Sentinel and Guide. 

            ~*~


	2. Part Two

**Part two**

Another day, another dollar. Danny filed a case note on the main drive in the appropriate folder. He stretched back in his chair, thinking of the need to get off his ass and move. If he was feeling antsy, Steve was probably about to climb out of his skin and --

Danny froze, making a sweep. 

Yes, this feeling was external rather than internal. 

Time to take Steve out for walkies to bleed off some of that energy. 

Danny was unrepentantly old school. He preferred print outs and hard copies. An array of folders lay on the spare table in his office. He let his fingers dance over the beige, fawn and russet paper covers, which were the hierarchy of their cold-cases. His smile could have been described as smug if anyone had seen it, because they had a very small number of cold cases. 

Each one was a stain that needed to be removed. 

Randomly, responding to a frisson, he selected the one to the left of the middle. 

There was the new building development being consistently sabotaged on the east side of the island. In the early stages of the case a body had been found north of the compound. Max, however, had ascertained that the elderly gentleman, living away from civilisation, had died of natural causes. The sabotage had continued, and the site manager had recently reported yet another incident. 

It was a low key sort of case for the governor’s taskforce. But, of course, the owner of the company was a close personal friend of the governor. The plan to develop the previously undeveloped area was part of the governor’s programme to input money into the Hawaiian State. Tourism was a new sort of activity born out of the necessity of their local economic crash -- a crash brought about by a tsunami. New jobs, new visitors and new money for the Island of ‘Oahu to fuel plans to invigorate and inject money into empty social coffers. That folk had money for vacations kind of bamboozled Danny. You went on vacation to visit family or took day trips. Only the rich took far-flung vacations. And building private resorts? That was only for the über rich. Denning was trying to make ‘Oahu the next French Riviera. Danny didn’t know if he approved. 

Investigating a case on the east coast of the island would get them out of the office. 

Previously, Chin and Kono had led on the case, while he and Steve had dealt with a meth head cooking up tainted drugs. A cursory investigation, of necessity, given that Kono and Chin had had to help them suddenly with the drug case, meant that a fresh view of the ongoing sabotage would not go amiss. 

Scanning the incident file, Danny read that one construction worker had died and another had been seriously injured. The occurrences were escalating.

Danny stalked out to Chin’s office. 

Chin rocked back in his seat, eyeing Danny as he entered. 

Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We--” by which he meant Steve, “--need to get out and get some fresh air. I was thinking of running an eye over the Raine development north of Punaluu.”

“Really?” was all that Chin said. 

“Well, yeah, maybe a sentinel run over will find something.” 

“It is possible,” Chin said soberly. 

“So we’ll head out there. Okay?”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Chin said deadpan. 

Honestly, Danny sometimes wondered who was in charge of the taskforce. He knew that it wasn’t him. 

            ~*~

“I have to admit this is different.” Steve reached into the trunk of the Camaro and hauled out a blue and white cooler. “I don’t think I’ve been on a picnic lunch while on a case before.”

“Presumably,” Danny said aloofly, “you had MRE picnics when you were in the SEALs.” 

Steve blinked, clearly having problems mentally matching MREs and picnics. Danny took his silence as a win. 

“The construction site is in the next bay.” Danny turned his phone this way and that. He was ninety percent sure that the construction site was the next bay over. 

They had pulled over because the bay before them was a pristine, curving stretch of golden beach bookended by rocky outcrops. Danny had directed Steve, with much gesticulating, to pull over on the verge on the north edge of the natural bay. 

Danny would have been happy to sit in the car with the windows rolled down. But at the very least he would be able to find a flat rock to sit on as Steve explored. 

“Food first and then the construction site?” Steve cocked his head to the side. 

“What?” Danny asked. 

“Nothing,” Steve said. 

“Nothing?” 

Steve tossed him the keys and bounded off down the beach rather than answering. 

They weren’t really playing hooky, Danny told himself -- they were allowed to have lunch. 

Steve had already found a perfect rock to sit on, kicked off his boots, and was pulling out the lunch boxes and popping them open. 

“Danny…” He began, and stopped to angle the salmon sashimi plate that Danny had purchased this morning. 

Obediently, Danny sniffed; they weren’t off. They were from a reputable chef who always froze his raw fish to -40 before prepping food. The sashimi was now defrosted and to Danny’s sentinel senses presented no risk. 

“Good to go.” Danny nodded. 

“You don’t like sushi,” Steve said, “or sashimi.” 

“You like sashimi.” 

“And you actually hate it. Slippy, slidey down your throat to flop in your belly.” 

“Ew. Shut up.” Danny was tempted to put his fingers in his ears. “I’ve got a sub with chicken and mayo.” 

_Raw fish, shudder_ , Danny thought, and manufactured an actual, physical shudder to underscore his disgust. 

“What’s up?” Steve asked, weighing his words very heavily. 

“Nothing’s up. Eat your funky raw fish.” 

Steve delicately hooked a sliver with his fingernail and slurped it down just like a seal. How he loved it, Danny didn’t know. But well, different strokes for different folks. He had purchased the sushi and sashimi plate from O’s with an avocado salad because he liked to treat his guide. 

“Blessed protector,” Steve observed as he opened another box. “When did you plan this?”

“I didn’t,” Danny refuted as he sat down and rooted through the cooler for his sub from Beeley’s Organic Juice and Foodbar. “It just happened.” 

“I think that there’s something going on.” Steve snapped apart his disposable chopsticks and sat right down on the sand with his three Tupperware boxes perched on his crossed legs. 

“Eat your lunch.” Danny directed. Honestly, it was like having an obstreperous five year old. 

“Beeley’s vegetable juice?” Steve held up the recyclable glass bottle. Fifty cents back from Beeley when you returned the bottle and bought another concoction. 

“It’s good for you,” Danny said. 

“Have you got one?”

“Yes,” Danny said reluctantly. Without the broccoli, though, despite Grace’s lectures about how good broccoli was for a person. 

“Hmmm.” Steve stuffed a massive lump of rice and prawn wrapped up with seaweed sideways in his mouth, so Danny hoped that the conversation was over. 

It was pretty and all out here, but the wind was messing with his hair, and the blue ocean was a sensory sucking maw rolling ponderously before him. He watched Steve instead as he positively glowed as he decimated his lunch. The show should not have been attractive. 

“Okay.” Steve abruptly stood up and brushed his hands over his thighs. 

“What?” Danny said indignantly. “Let your food digest.”

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna look around.” 

“Don’t go in the water,” Danny said automatically. 

Steve raised an eyebrow and immediately started zipping off the legs of his cargo pants. 

Danny grumbled. 

He focused on enjoying his organic whole-wheat sub with honey-roasted chicken as Steve wandered along the edge of the rocky outcrop, poking in cracks and over turning smaller rocks. He did, of course, end up paddling knee deep into the water. 

There was a bag in the trunk of the Camaro with a change of clothes and towel, so Danny guessed that swimming would happen. 

Steve stopped mid-water, gentle surf pushing at his legs. On this side of the island they were somewhat protected from the storm brewing to the south west. Unless -- Danny sniffed the air -- it turned widdershins. Oddly, the ocean was rolling a little high. 

Steve stood tall. Danny watched his shoulders move back and down, his hands resting by his thighs. He breathed out slowly. 

Danny stood up. 

“Steve?” 

“Seriously?” Steve craned his head to peer over his shoulder. 

“What?” Danny said indignantly in the face of that aggravated expression. 

Steve turned where he stood and crossed his arms. He did not come out of the water. Fastidiously, Danny picked his way over the sand trying not to get any hard, abrasive particles in his shoes.

“You feed me up. You ply me with fresh-prepared oily salmon; juices packed with vitamins and minerals; avocado, and even one of your peppermint patties.” 

“And?” Danny said confused. The surf lapped sneakily towards his shoes, and he stepped back. 

“Plainly you want me to do something guidey.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t have a clue, but I’m trying.” Steve turned back to face the ocean. 

“What? What?” Danny scrabbled across the sand, slipping and sliding on his shoes. “It’s just a break before we check out a case. You like salmon!” 

He splashed into the water, hauling to a stop at Steve’s side. Steve didn’t appear to be breathing as he stood stock still. Danny clenched his fists, wanting to grab, but containing himself. What the Hell was Steve trying to do? The instinctive nature of his abilities escaped Steve. Danny worked totally on instinct. His mom had said that he had manifested as a toddler, so there had been a period when he hadn’t operated, but he had been practically a baby. Danny had been a sentinel for forever. Rare, the trainers had said; normally puberty or sensory trauma in adulthood triggered emergence. It wasn’t unusual for the armed services to systematically subject their soldiers to sensory deprivation. 

Steve had denied his abilities his entire life. He had throttled any instinctive control. Steve was a scientist at heart. He wanted cause and effect, defined factors, and explicable logic. 

Honestly, they were the worst match ever. 

“I’m kind of thinking that….” Danny began. “Actually, what’s with the salmon?” 

“Jesus.” Steve threw his hands in the air. “You told me. You figured it out. I’m guessing that it’s the fatty acids, especially DHA and EPA, but I guess it’s the whole suite.” 

“What are you talking about?” Danny asked. He knew that Steve was tightly wrought with his body. Yeah, he needed feeding all the time. But Danny was missing a trick. 

“This stuff.” Steve did his Williamsesque finger wiggle (although _actually_ it was Steve’s gesture or possibly their gesture). “It needs fuel -- specifically, the formation of complex eicosanoids. Probably a suite that is unknown to science, but I’m not donating brain tissue so that my signalling molecules can be dissected.” 

“Are you speaking English?” 

“No. Yes. Danny. My Masters at Annapolis was Organic Chemistry. I’m fully capable of making inferences. I’ve also been talking with Dr. Grumpy. Who is worse than Frankenstein.”

Danny clawed his fingers and went grrrrrr. 

“Frankenstein was the scientist. Not the Monster.” 

“So eating salmon helps you guide?” Danny interpreted. 

“If you’re going to use it as a noun. I think that the correct diet is part of a larger equation. Diet is a tool. Nutrients are essentially the fuel.” 

“And salmon has a lot of the right nutrients?” Danny hazarded. 

“Which you knew already,” Steve said. “It’s more complex than merely salmon. But when you’re feeding me, you’re responding to something that I don’t have a handle on. ”

“I’m… bamboozled,” Danny admitted. 

“Just go with your gut, Danny, it seems to work for you.” Steve leaned forwards and pecked a kiss on Danny’s lips. “Undeniably, it’s interesting. I figured something was up when you weren’t feeding me massive amounts of glucose.” 

“Glucose,” Danny parroted. 

“Yeah, the human brain needs glucose for fuel, and very specific regulation of glucose metabolism is critical for brain physiology. You’ve never really pushed honey or dried fruit, or complex carbohydrates. You’ve gone the polyunsaturated fats, proteins and minerals route.”

“You got all that out of me taking over the cooking?” Danny gaped. 

“No, I got that from what you were cooking. When I first met you, you wouldn’t have given up your lasagne, spaghetti carbonara, that nasty loaf thing your dad taught you to make, pizza or tiramisu for love nor money. Carbs, with carbs and added carbs. It was actually when your dad visited and inflicted that spaghetti carbonara on us that I started thinking.” 

“Food?” Danny repeated. “You’ve literally just ate your lunch. A lunch that I picked up before I decided we’d come here. Your magic salmon hasn’t even begun to be digested. There’s nothing going on here. I just don’t like cold cases.” 

Steve stopped doing whatever the hell he was doing and stared at Danny. Danny felt his skin relax. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Danny said. His shoes were wet and he was right. 

Steve’s lack of response was answer enough. 

“Okay.” Danny smiled smugly. “Let’s go get dried, and have a look around the building site. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Steve repeated, a mite mulishly. 

“And next time--” Danny smacked Steve hard with the back of his hand, “--no experimenting without telling me. Spaghetti carbonara, geez. And you’re buying me new shoes.” 

            ~*~

It was a building site. Boring: concrete, scaffolding, girders and a lot of piles of dirt. They had spent an unhelpful hour or two talking to the site staff, and then Steve had pootled around the onsite computer. All that they could find was men and women working hard to erect a resort in the middle of nowhere where the rich guests were supposed to spend the whole time hidden behind a wall being pampered. The site was a gaping eyesore amidst the vegetation. The tear had offended Danny. 

“No threats. No leads. No evidence. I’m thinking it’s kids just messing around.” Steve smacked shut the lid of the laptop that he was using. “Yeah, there was the latest accident but was it because of sabotage? It’s a building site; there are hazards. If it was because of safety violations, would saying that it was because of the sabotage mean that the insurance investigation would be more straight forward?” 

“Anything on the videos?” Danny flatly refused to scan shitty security videos because they always gave him a headache. 

“Why…. Tell me why bother with video surveillance that has the pixel quality of a patchwork quilt? I quit.” Steve stood. “I don’t get it. We need better intel on the ongoing sabotage and the accident where the carpenter died.”

“Which is here.” Danny brandished the site report of the accident. A scaffold had collapsed. According to the report the scaffold had been constructed correctly. It had still buckled. 

“The security should have seen any kids,” Steve said. 

There were three security officers on rotation. The oldest, a guy called Craig, who reminded Danny of his Uncle Sal with his beer belly and fish-pale complexion, was working tonight. 

“Unless they’re asleep instead of patrolling.” Danny stepped out of the site supervisor’s portacabin office into the evening sun. Blinking, he held his hand up to block the rays. “It’s not like the video would show any details of the guys sleeping on the job.” 

“We’ll get the owner to beef up security. She should have already.” 

“Mr. Statham died.” Danny ground his teeth. 

“True.” Steve heaved out a sigh. “Maybe it was a prank that went wrong?” 

Danny contemplated the quiet building site looking for answers. The last worker leaving in his truck waved absently as he pulled away. Danny scrubbed his hand over his jaw, pushing against the early evening’s bristles. 

“There’s no communities nearby, are there?” Danny asked. He already knew the answer. 

“No, that’s why they picked this area for the resort.” 

“I don’t get it,” Danny griped. 

“Let’s get Chin to run the financials again. Maybe we can figure out another angle.” Steve was a solid weight at Danny’s back, unconsciously, herding him toward the Camaro. 

“Keys.” Danny held out his hand. 

“I’m driving.” Steve patted his chest, indicating: me, me, me. 

“No, you’re not. Keys.” 

“I get car sick.” 

“Since when? Keys.” 

Steve scrutinised Danny, head to toe. Slowly, telegraphing every motion as if he was drawing his weapon from his holster, he extracted the keys from his cargo pants pocket. 

“Thank you.” Danny snatched them from his fingers. He got into his car, and reaching between his legs, ratcheted the seat closer to the steering column. 

“Why the need to drive?” Steve asked as he fitted his long limbs into the passenger seat. 

“It’s my car.” Danny slipped the key into the ignition, turned and absolutely nothing happened. The silence was more disturbing than a dull clunk or last gasp. Absolutely nothing. 

“What did you do?” Steve asked automatically. 

“Nothing!” Danny curled over to better see the lock. 

“Pop the hood.” Steve clambered back out of the car. 

“Pop the hood,” Danny mocked loudly as Steve walked around the car. “You gonna repair it like you repair the Mercury Marquis?” 

“The Mercury runs.” 

“For twenty minutes.” Danny reached around by his ankle to find the lever to pop the hood. 

“Holy--” Steve said loudly as he hauled up the hood. 

“What?” Danny jack-knifed out of his seat. “My car!” 

Every cap from the power steering fluid reservoir to the clutch reservoir had been unscrewed. The spark plugs were conspicuous by their absence. Even the dipstick was missing. 

“How did this happen without us seeing anyone?” Steve turned on his heel, scanning the largely empty building site. They were practically the only ones left, apart from the site manager, and the security guard who had just returned from locking down the site. 

“Unreal.” Danny let his shoulders slump. _His car_. 

“Call AAA. Let’s see if we can get a lift back to civilisation with the manager.” 

“I’m not leaving my car out here in the middle of nowhere! It could be vandalised.” 

“It’s already been vandalised, Danny,” Steve pointed out. 

“I’m not letting it be vandalised further!” 

“I guess we’re hanging around then.” 

            ~*~

Steve was bored. A tow truck was on the way, but it was still going to take an hour for Triple A to reach them. He lobbed a stone as far as he could into the crashing waves. The wind had picked up. A storm was brewing. Steve hoped the truck came before the black rain cloud rolling in from the south reached them. 

“How the Hell did anyone get to my car?” Fists clenched, Danny continued to rail at the universe. 

They had been all over the vehicle: no spoor; no scents; no fingerprints -- no residual indicators of any kind. Danny continued to pick over the car, looking for anything, because there had to be something. It was a conundrum. How had someone got near a sentinel’s car and left the engine in tatters? Danny wasn’t an automaton with a radar detector, so getting near the car wasn’t impossible. But popping the hood, cutting hoses and stealing spark plugs should have left some evidence. They would have had to wear a haz-mat suit. But sentinels weren’t, in fact, infallible. Maybe they were missing something?

Honestly, the perps could not have picked a better method to rile a sentinel goat. 

“How the Hell did someone do that?” Steve asked the world at large. 

Danny was annoyed. Danny was very annoyed. But the truth of the matter was Danny liked indulging in his emotions. Generally, Steve enjoyed surfing them. He would wind down and start using his intellect any moment. Definitely, there was something weird going on. 

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the ocean. Spray from the waves crashing into the narrow rocky shore below touched his skin. 

Steve inhaled, slow and measured. He let the breath flow out. In and out. In and out. He knew meditation as a child. He knew the focus of intent that cleared the mind. The trick, according to their Kahuna La'au Lapa'au, Kila, was to empty his mind. There were some incredibly important and subtle differences between cleared and emptied which Steve didn’t actually understand. 

It was tempting to go swimming, but Danny would freak the fuck out, because the ocean was grey and the foam high. 

Peace could be found in the sea. Part of Steve wished that Danny could appreciate the ocean. He understood that the complex fluid expanse modified Danny’s senses in a way that was antithetical to the lessons that he had learnt since coming into this senses as a toddler in a large city. 

Steve knew the closeness of the hold of the sea, as protective as a mother and as inimical as a warrior. 

_Okay_ , Steve told himself, _I’ve eaten well -- stuffed to the gills more like -- although isn’t an empty stomach better for meditation? Nutrients: docosapentaenoic acid; eicosapentaenoic acid; B6; B12; calcium, iron, copper and zinc_.

Breathe in and breathe out. 

_Docosapentaenoic acid; eicosapentaenoic acid; B6; B12; calcium, iron, copper and zinc_.

Breathe in and breathe out. 

_Docosapentaenoic acid; eicosapentaenoic acid; B6; B12; calcium, iron, copper and zinc_.

What has Danny sensed? And what does he want me to find?

            ~*~

Senses tickled, Danny lifted his head from the maliciously gutted remnants of his beloved car. He found what he was looking for instantly. Steve stood on the tooled rocky outcrop toes too close to the edge. He stood tall, as straight as a tree, arms by his side, palms by his thighs, fingers curiously splayed. 

“Steve?” 

Danny started sprinting. 

He didn’t make it in time. Steve toppled right off the edge of the rock. 

“Steve!”

            ~*~

The sun was shining. Steve blinked at it high in the sky. Midday, he judged. _What?_ Steve took stock; he was lying on his back on dry sand, blue-blue sky far above his head. He lifted his head, thoroughly confused, the ocean out on a springy spring tide. The tide had been a weirdly stormy high neap not a moment before. 

“Danny?” he said tentatively, although he knew that Danny wasn’t anywhere close. 

_Perhaps_ , he wondered, _I should sit up?_

Thought equalled action in Steve’s world, so he sat up. It was warm, the air springlike, with none of the early fall’s oppressive heat. No autumnal storm stirred on the horizon. Even knowing what he would see, Steve scaled the steep, sharp rocky shore on hand and knee. Before him was undisturbed land. Dense bushy Beach Naupaka covered the shore, growing higher than Steve had ever seen the shrub grow. Akoko was in full bloom -- it wasn’t the most appealing aroma. A dense stand of robust and well grown Hala stood sentry behind the shrubs stretching all the way to the foothills in the far distance. 

Steve scratched his sideburn. 

“Well, fuck.” He heaved out a sigh. “Danny’s gonna be pissed.” 

            ~*~

 


	3. Part Three

**Part three**

“Steve. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Danny scrambled down the boulders, slipping and sliding on greasy algae. Steve was a twisted knot at the bottom of the rocky outcrop. Waves pushed at his body trying to suck him into the water. Danny was not going to let that happen. 

He got down to the sand, stumbled, and scrabbled across the narrow beach as Steve started to be inexorably dragged away. 

“Mine.” Danny latched on and hauled Steve out of the sucking waves and up the sand. He dropped to his knees and set hands on his guide. If Steve had damaged his neck falling, Danny could have killed him, but drowning was as death inducing. There were no hot points or rising bruising. Blood flowed in undamaged veins and arteries under his skin. Limbs were intact and strong. The soft sand had broken his fall. Danny got him on his side, and craned over to check his airway and breathing. He could hear the rush of air in his lungs. 

“Why do you do this to me?” he berated. 

Steve hadn’t, thankfully, swallowed his tongue. Danny pulled his finger free with a pop. He carefully drew up Steve’s eyelid, pinched between his fingertips. The pupil was blown and fixed, focused on nothing that Danny could see. Disconcerted, Danny smoothed Steve’s eyelid closed. “What are you looking at?” 

            ~*~

Steve checked out the rocky outcrop because it had subtly changed. At the highest point there sat an enormous, unweathered flat stone, and on that platform white coral skeletons and stones had been placed. Waves and tide hadn’t set that stone so precariously high nor carefully placed a pyramid of coral in the centre. Hands had created the offering. Steve backed away. 

This was a sacred space. You didn’t need to be a guide to recognise that. 

“Damn it.” Steve kicked a pebble into the sea. “Now what?” 

So Raine & Sons Limited were building on a heiau. The suspects now were people who respected local tradition: native Hawaiians… anyone really. Steve scanned the beach, but why this twist to the case? He didn’t need to – _what_ \-- time travel? Spirit walk? He couldn’t help rolling his eyes. He turned in a circle. This was ‘Oahu before it was heavily trammelled by booted feet. He knew his environment -- his mom had been a keen gardener, preferring indigenous plants, and his dad had marched him all over the island leeward and windward, high ranges and low plains every weekend. 

Either this was an incredibly vivid dream -- and he was prone to incredibly vivid dreams -- or some sort of guide thing. The drivel about spirit walks in Sandburg’s thesis had read more like fiction than anthropological analysis. The tone and text had been more personal than scientifically analytical. The chapter on Vision Quests in the Sentinel Milieu had been the stumbling point in the whole 559 page thesis. And like most of the texts that they had got their hands on, both legally and illegally, it was focused on the Sentinel. 

He was a white male, Anglo Celtic (according to his father they were Scottish-Irish stock with a soupçon of Breton-French way back) born on the Islands of Hawaii, Kama’aina, but still white. It was, he felt, deep in his guts, insulting to steal from other cultures, especially ones that he respected. 

Regardless, he was still here. 

“Okay,” Steve said out loud. “Solutions?”

He clambered back down the steep rocks, jumping the last few feet or so onto the white sand. The tide was out so he could circle the rocky spur. A crack in the rocks beckoned, but Steve only crouched and peered into the darkness. Something waited. 

“Ho?” 

Steve jerked and stood. 

“Oh, wow.” Steve regarded the man above him. 

He was a native Hawaiian, kānaka, brown skinned and brown eyed and there was a natural blue tint to his glossy black hair. He wore only a patterned green loincloth. Barrel-chested, he probably outweighed Steve by twenty or so pounds. Geometric and angular tattoos adorned his body. Steve could only marvel, undeniably envious of the symmetrical shark-like symbol displayed on his chest. 

The man spoke and Steve shrugged in what hoped was the universal sign for: _sorry, I don’t understand_. He looked down at his cargo pants, Danny’s favourite teal shirt, and heavy boots, and wondered what the man made of such a weirdly dressed interloper in his sacred space. 

“I mean no disrespect,” Steve said sincerely, hoping that his tone conveyed his meaning. “I was searching for something and I’m here now.” 

The Hawaiian jumped the eight feet down onto the sand, stocky limbs easily absorbing the jump. Manfully, Steve refrained from dropping into a defensive pose at his proximity. The man was short, inches shorter than Danny. Steve felt like a giant. 

Steve was scrutinised from head to toe. Steve waited, because he was the trespasser. He had met many people from many different cultures in his time in the Navy, sometimes in not so amenable circumstances. The best approach, in many instances, had been an open hand. 

The Hawaiian asked a question, and then laughed. Steve smiled back at him. 

“Sorry. I’m not getting anything you’re saying. I know some Hawaiian, but I’m guessing you’re speaking a dialect I’ve never heard.” 

The man moved and Steve bit down on an instinctive defensive block. He was unarmed and only wearing a bark loincloth. Steve still had his weapon holstered at his waist. Standing on his toes, the Hawaiian brought his forehead close. Steve resisted the instinctive need to hold his breath and bent to bring the bridges of their noses together and breathed. Steve smelled fish and heavy scented flowers. He wondered what the kahuna smelled. Salmon? Old Spice?

The kahuna straightened and treated Steve to a gap toothed, face creased smile. The tattooed lines and diamonds on his cheeks writhed with his grin. Steve had passed the first and the most important test. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Steve couldn’t help saying. 

_What are you doing here?_ The kahuna asked with the scrunch of his shoulders and the splay of his hands. 

“I was just trying to figure out what was wrong with where I was and--” Steve pointed at the fishing shrine. “I figure the guys who are building the resort destroyed the ko`a.” 

“Ko`a,” the kahuna repeated. 

“Yeah, ko`a. Fishing shrine,” Steve confirmed. 

“Ko`a.” He nodded. 

Words again, lyrical and not understandable, were spoken, and Steve could only shrug. The kahuna settled for plucking at the fabric of Steve’s cotton shirt, testing its warp and weft. He seemed impressed by its quality. Steve thought that his loincloth looked comfortable for the relative humidity and warmth. Canting his head to the side, the kahuna checked out the edge of the tattoo peeking out of the sleeve of Steve’s shirt. Dutifully, Steve peeled back his shirt to show the man his tattoo. He bent forwards to better see the colourful Buddha and Lotus. The kahuna’s tattoos were knife with ash and soot tattoos -- horrifically painful to create. The kahuna was impressed, touching the faded colours on Steve’s bicep lightly with his fingertips. 

“So, pragmatically, I guess that you might be able to help me? I don’t know if this is really real. But what about the cave?” Steve pointed at it again. 

His new friend spoke, serious and intent. Steve didn’t understand a word, but got the meaning. 

“Yeah, I won’t go in there,” Steve said reluctantly. Clearly, there was something important in there. Luckily, Danny hadn’t travelled with him, otherwise he would have been hauling the sentinel out by the seat of his pants. 

Kapu.

Steve knew that word. 

“Kapu,” Steve repeated and nodded. It was possible that bones were interred in the cave. He knew that was an important custom. 

The kahuna patted his chest indicating the shark over his sternum. 

“Shark?” Steve echoed, pointing to the tattoo. Sharks were `aumākua. “`Aumākua?”

The Hawaiian cocked his head to the side evidently turning the word over in his mind and finding it not quite right. He spoke rapidly; plainly confused that Steve knew sparse words but had no understanding. 

This was frustrating. 

The kahuna stopped lecturing, and set his hands on his hips and leaned back. 

“`Uhane,” he pronounced, his accent almost rendering it unintelligible. There was an edge in his pronunciation that made the word more _concrete_. 

Steve patted his chest. Kila called him `Uhane -- soul, spirit, guide to his sentinel. 

Steve got the distinct impression that the kahuna was very frustrated. What was the poor guy thinking on meeting an outsider by his ko`a? Steve hadn’t released the bounds that he constrained on his empathy since entering this place. A simple attempt at meditation had transported him to an otherworldly plane. 

Steve heaved out a sigh, and _pinged_ the kahuna. Empathic information came back to him on the rebound. He was balanced; a warm, calm golden amber from head to foot. The kahuna was a good man, concerned and worried for the ‘uhane hele before him, only wanting to help. He rocked back under the onslaught of Steve’s assessment, shook himself from head to toe, and regarded Steve with a distinctly paternal expression. In another universe, the kahuna might have smacked him over the head for such an introduction. 

Steve shuffled from foot to foot. He didn’t know how to show that he was a guide, other than using a two by four. To be honest, it was a first. Normally, he wouldn’t have admitted to being a guide under torture, and he had been tortured. 

“Nama,” the kahuna summarised. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, because he was pretty sure that meant baby, and not as a term of affection. ‘Baby’ baby. In Hawaiian the word was kama. 

The kahuna jerked his head, clearly indicating ‘follow me’. Truculently, Steve followed. 

            ~*~

“I need MEDEVAC!” Danny screamed into his cell phone. 

The promised storm had arrived with winds like teeth. He curled over Steve in the dubious protection of the rocky spur as rain hammered down. They were effectively trapped by the curve of rocks, forced to burrow into the flotsam and jetsam in the strandline. Danny could have climbed the eight or so foot height easily, but Steve was a long line of solid, wet, cement-like weight. Danny had tried. He had tried. Steve was 175 pounds of muscle and bone. The number didn’t sound very high, but while Danny could easily bench press 225 pounds and deadlift nearly twice that, he couldn’t do it while climbing, and Steve wasn’t a neat weight with handholds. He had dropped Steve twice before realising that it was futile. Danny had sacrificed his tie to wrap around the resultant laceration on Steve’s forearm. Basalt was sharp and unforgiving. 

If only Chin or Kono had been with them. 

It was dark. The storm didn’t feel real. He knew that he could have got the security guard, but he simply couldn’t leave Steve. The ocean wanted him. If he left, a rogue wave would rush up the narrow beach and whisk him away. 

“Sir—“the connection was desperately poor. “Sentinel Williams?” 

“Yes. Sentinel Williams.” Danny glanced down at his guide’s still face, nestled against his chest. “MEDEVAC. 21°35′3306″N 157°53′4988″W.”

There was a horrible moment of silence. 

“Repeat, sir?”

“Chin. Call Chin. Chin Ho Kelly – 5O. He knows where we are!” The line went dead, and Danny sobbed against Steve’s wet hair. 

It was freezing. Hypothermia, despite the equatorial latitude, was a real threat. They were cold and wet. The spray from the ocean was unrelentingly unforgiving. Long strands of decaying seaweed were their only blanket. Reluctantly setting Steve down, when his arms ached to hold him, Danny started to gather seaweed and detritus to build a shelter between them and the sea. There was a wrecked fishing trap that provided a solid lump to mound up the long fronds of greeny-brown seaweed. A broken plank was the start of his roof. If only there had been something that he could burn. 

“I hate you, Steven. Why do you do this to me?” Danny dashed water out of his eyes. “This was supposed to be a nice easy excursion to work off some of your excess energy, not a life and death situation. And no, I am not bitching. I am expressing my frustration at life!”

            ~*~

Steve shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, wondering at the chill despite the summer sun high above his head. He followed the kahuna along a beaten, winding trail, amidst the hala. The scent of summer blossoms made his head swim. A drink of water would be very welcome. But he remembered vague tales where you weren’t supposed to eat or drink in other worlds. 

They broke out of the dense shrubbery into a cleared vale. 

“Wow.” Steve stopped impressed by the hale -- triangular roofed grass houses -- built in the large circle. There were a bunch of hard workers replacing pili grass thatching on a house on the far side of the open space. 

The workers stopped working as one. 

“ _Hey, who’s that, kahuna?_ ” Steve could imagine the tall guy, who definitely gave off chief vibes, saying. The man set down a hefty sheaf of tied grass and began to amble over. He was heavily tattooed, more so than the kahuna, which spoke of a long life and many trials. 

_‘I found this idiot at the fishing shrine. But he only looked and didn’t touch. I figure he’s lost,’_ the kahuna returned. 

“Aloha,” Steve chanced, it hadn’t occurred to him to say hello earlier. 

The kahuna eyed Steve. “Aroha,” he corrected. 

“Aroha,” Steve echoed, definitely a dialect-accent thing. He was generally good at languages. He tapped his chest. “Steve.” 

“Aroha, S’eve,” the kahuna said. He tapped his own chest over the shark. “Kawai.” He gestured to the chief-guy. “Kale.” 

“Please to meet you, Kawai. Kale.” Steve waited, trying to judge if they were going for the honi -- sharing of breath. The chief made no move. 

Interloper. 

Steve settled for a nod. If it came down to a battle, he instinctively knew that he would win. Longer arms, longer legs, vicious and practical training. He wouldn’t even need a weapon, he thought, taking note of the cruel shark-toothed wrapped knife hanging by Kale’s hip. 

Kawai tapped Steve’s bicep indicating the tattoo. Deciding in the space of an instant, Steve whipped off his shirt displaying both tattoos in all their glory and, incidentally, the body that he worked hard to maintain. 

_Alpha male,_ Danny said tetchily. 

_Shut up._

_Make me._

Kawai spoke low and fervently until Kale threw his hands in the air ¬ _so be it_. Kawai turned back to Steve, and nodded in the direction of a modest home to the left of the centrally positioned fire pit. 

            ~*~

They were going to die and it was going to be the most pointless death in the history of sentinel deaths. Dying of cold and wet on a picnic was not the line he wanted as his epitaph. The helicopter should have been here. His voice hadn’t been heard. 

He was shivering hard. And Steve wasn’t shivering at all. The thread of Steve’s life under Danny’s fingers was ropey. 

“No!” Danny screamed at the heavens. This was pointless. 

The wind lashed the rain down on Danny. It was as if the storm wanted to pierce his bones. He could have imagined that there was a hard, sleeting heart in each painful droplet. But that very thought told him he was rapidly losing control of his senses as hypothermia enfolded him in its deadly grip. 

Danny batted the side of his phone with thick, clumsy fingers. 

“Chin. Chin,” he beseeched, hoping that their friend had been contacted. GPS was on line, he thought. Chin probably had them lo-jacked. Danny turned to Steve running his fingers over his skin. The texture felt as waxy as it appeared. However, was it real or a function of his meagre control? 

“Dead like pale fish.” Danny swallowed hard. A fish, an implacable shark, sailed through his imagination regarding him with goblin eyes. 

Frantically, Danny patted Steve’s face with numb fingers. He couldn’t hear his breathing over the roar of the crashing waves. Danny’s skin crawled. 

The wind picked up with a delighted shriek. 

An incongruously amused giggle echoed in Danny’s throat at the storm’s pleasure. In hilarity’s wake, adrenalin spiked giving him a moment of clarity in a confusing world. 

He would try again, Danny decided. If he had to flay the skin from his own bones on unforgiving, rocky edges, he could succeed. Casting off the dubious protection of the kelp and jetsam, Danny stood. The world swooped and he swallowed down hard on the rise of bile. He crouched scooping his arms around Steve’s narrow chest. Putting his back into it, he lifted. Steve’s long legs dragged on the sand, heels digging furrows. 

Back to the rocky outcrop, protecting an unconscious Steve as much as he could, Danny hefted up and over the first boulder. Slippery, slimy fingers of seaweed tried to upset them. Danny got over one rock. Jamming his foot bruisingly in a crevice, he found leverage to gain another rock of height. Steve’s head lolled back on Danny’s chest. Scooping shoulders around, Danny tried to futilely corral Steve’s horribly floppy neck. Danny managed another couple of inches, and laid open a four inch gash on his forearm. They would have matching wounds from the unforgiving basalt. 

His foot caught, rammed deep in the crevice. 

“No!” Danny yanked hard, but he had no purchase or leverage to help him escape. “No!” 

“Danny?”

The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it -- ephemeral and angelic.

“Danny!”

“What?” He tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. 

“Danny.” Kono jack-in-the-boxed up at his side. 

“That was magical,” Danny informed her seriously. “Where did you come from?” 

“Danny, what happened?” Kono asked. “No, that’s not important. Chin! Chin over here.”

“Oooh,” Danny greeted, as, improbably, he was bookended by the cousins. 

Suddenly everything was easier. The weight was shared. His foot pulled free. As one, they scaled the rocks. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” Danny told his favourite people in the universe. 

“You too, brah,” Kono hollered. 

“The wind suddenly picked up. We are on typhoon alert. The MEDEVAC couldn’t launch,” Chin yelled. “What happened?”

Danny kind of understood the words. He definitely got them individually, but stringing them together didn’t make any sense. 

“The security office.” 

Danny wondered where they were going. 

It was dark, with the depth of night. There was a glow, a rectangle of yellow light. Danny kind of thought that going into the portal might hurt. He tried to jab his heels into the gravel. The crunch beneath his feet was impossibly loud and he had to lift them high. Monty Python silly walk. The cessation of hail hammering down on his head was a relief, but the drilling, rat-tat-a-tat-tat sound above him was very disconcerting. Danny blinked up at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. Hail? Were they in Jersey?

His calves hit the back of something, and they all toppled gracelessly onto a sofa that creaked alarmingly. 

“Danny? Let go of Steve.” 

“No.” Danny growled, clasping his guide even more closely. They could not have him. Fingers plucked at his shirt. His skin crawled. 

“Danny.” Warm hands cupped his cheeks. “Please, let go of Steve.” 

Danny bared his teeth. 

“No,” Chin enunciated clearly. “We’re helping you, Danny. Helping.” 

“Helping?” 

“We’re ‘Ohana.” 

Reluctantly, Danny let Chin unpeel the fingers that he couldn’t move himself. 

“You’re chilled. Why are you so chilled?”

Who was speaking? Danny wondered. 

“Steve’s like an ice cube.” 

“We’ve got to get them warmed up.”

“Is there a first aid kit? We’ve got to wrap that cut on Danny’s arm.” 

There was a tug and a distant, disconnected hurt, which Danny figured had something to do with his forearm. 

“Get them out of their wet clothes.” 

“Share body heat.” 

“It’s like trying to undress a toddler.” 

“Toddler?” Danny tried to see where Grace was in the room. “Where’s Grace?” 

“Grace is safe. She’s with her mom.” A soft hand cupped his cheek. “Grace is safe, Danny. I promise. My word of honour. Grace is safe.” 

His shirt was peeled away, and the relief at being free from the tacky, damp clasp was immeasurable. He watched the swath of blond hairs on his forearm stand proud. Every pinprick was a mountain. 

“Don’t zone, Danny.” A narrow, smooth hand -- not Steve’s cupped his cheek. 

“Here.” 

A musty, heavy coat, sharp with hard edges enfolded him. The owner’s scent was unfamiliar. 

“Interloper,” Danny growled. 

He pushed his nose into Steve’s damp hair to escape the odour. The siren call of his guide was all encompassing. Relaxing was suddenly all too easy. 

“It’s okay, Kono.” Chin’s teeth gnashed together like continents crashing. Danny burrowed further into Steve to escape the cacophony. “You get on Danny’s side. I’ll get on Steve’s.” 

“They’re both too cold. We shouldn’t let them huddle. They’re just making things worse.” 

“We won’t be able to separate them.” 

“Danny’s kind of with us, sort of. I’ll see if I can get him to sip some of the security guard’s coffee. Okay?” 

“Good plan. Put lots of sugar in it.” 

            ~*~

Steve accepted a bowl of juice, he didn’t know what type, and then sat at Kawai’s direction on a padded cushion. The vague inclination that he shouldn’t eat or drink prodded him. He was thirsty, and Kawai _felt_ trustworthy, so he drank. The juice was sharp and refreshing, but unappetisingly warm. If this experience was a dream it was certainly intensely tangible. 

“So,” Steve opened with, because what else was he going to do, “I was investigating incidents on a building site, and I now figure that the site’s sitting on an important ko`a. I’m guessing kānaka or kama’aina are protesting…. You know, that doesn’t make sense. The local kahuna would have _actually_ protested. He or she could have easily organised the locals and spoken to the governor.” He stared at Kawai. “No shit’s hit the fan. I mean the governor’s focused on development and money, but he wouldn’t allow a shrine to be desecrated. Something else is going on.” 

Kawai regarded him seriously. 

“Why come here?” Steve gestured with his cup encompassing Kawai’s home. Danny would have got his point across with bouncing and pointing, and speaking loudly with his body. 

Kawai raised his hands in the universal _I do not understand_. It was strange that they could communicate when Steve guessed that this was Hawaii a thousand or so years ago. Regardless of where you were gestures matched feelings and expressions spoke of inner emotions. 

“Ah,” Steve said ruefully. “Crap.” 

Danny, he thought, and that evoked a feeling of loss. Where was Danny? He would be searching for him in the real world. Danny would be worried and yelling at the heavens. Énouement was the bittersweet feeling on knowing the future, seeing it with your own eyes, but not able to tell the child that you had been. Steve turned that feeling on its head. He knew the future, he had been there. Danny was still there, but he wasn’t sharing this ancient ‘Oahu gently touched by human hands with Steve. 

Danny wasn’t here. 

Steve projected the complex feeling of loss at the Kahuna. 

“Oh,” Kawai sighed, and tears sprung in his brown eyes. He pressed his hand over his heart. “Nēnē hiwa.”

“Yes,” Steve said sibilantly. He didn’t know the word but Kawai’s feeling echoed back at him -- cherished, beloved, and elsewhere. 

_So_ , Kawai said, as Steve could only imagine, _How do we get you home?_

            ~*~

Kawai seemed to think that taking Steve on a tour of the village was the way forwards. Steve followed, because presumably there was a reason for this trip. Therefore, it was sensible to explore this place. 

Steve estimated that fifteen families formed the core of the village. A central building stood taller than the homes arrayed around it. The hall, positioned right in the middle of the glade, was adorned with proud standing feathers taller than a man. 

“What type of bird is that?” Steve asked, and knew of no emotion could carry that question to Kawai, other than amazement. Whatever species when alive had flown with those incredible wings was now long, long extinct. 

A child ran by, pursued by his giggling sister. No matter where you were in the universe, some things remained constant. A shape, a glimpse from the corner of his eye, made Steve spin on his heel. Directly before him a bushy, red-tufted tree rustled and a bulky hawk swooped out into the glade. 

Steve saw something faster than the eye could follow dart through the grass, as the hawk screeched _eeeh-oh_. He winced at the sound. Danny would have sworn vociferously. The hawk shrilled again, and dropping swiftly, caught its small prey. 

“’Io,” Kawai murmured. 

“The bird?” Steve flapped his fingers together, thumbs touching. “’Io?” 

“’Io,” Kawai confirmed. 

The ‘io launched back into the stand of blossom rich trees, its prey caught in its beak. Steve guessed that she was feeding her young. It wasn’t a bird that he was familiar with -- not that he had ever watched birds in his life other than to identify threats on the horizon -- but he thought that the trees were ōhi’a lehua from the spindly array of filamentous, red flowers. 

“They’re ōhi’a lehua?” he ventured. 

Kawai cocked his head to the side. He repeated the words, testing them on the air. Steve guessed that he had spoken nonsense. 

Steve inhaled taking in the soft flowering scents and listening to the sound of children playing. Light wind brushed his skin, and he tasted the sea salt in the air. There was a sense of peace around him that uncurled a knot in the base of his skull. 

“You’re very lucky, Kawai. I wish I lived here.” Steve huffed. “Well, Danny’s not here.” 

Kawai reached up and patted his shoulder. 

“I don’t get this. I don’t understand. This place is amazing. I mean I think that I would be bored inside of two weeks if I lived here. It’s peaceful and kind of perfect. Too perfect maybe. Is that Chief guy okay? I’m babbling; I’m channelling Danny. But what is here for me to learn? Pragmatically, I feel an extended ‘Ohana. I want my own ‘Ohana. I don’t need to come here to know that. Come on --” 

The shape on the edge of his vision moved again, and Steve turned. The ōhi’a lehua were quiet. No hawk hunted. Slowly, Steve inhaled and then exhaled through his nose. He sought that stupid place that the kahuna Kila and Danny’s dad, said would bring insight. Empty mind. An empty mind didn’t come from stillness, it came from movement -- running, swimming, an intricate concerto piece. Steve splayed his fingers, unconsciously moving his fingers to pick out the opening notes of his favourite piece by Mozart. There was something in the stand of trees, watching. Animals emoted. Steve just knew that there was a mind in the bushes. Of what type, he didn’t know. 

Complex, but Vel, his border collie, could be complex. Empathy, sucked. Telepathy would be much more useful. Steve shuddered. Hearing uncontrolled thoughts would be a thousand times worse than uncontrolled empathy, he thought. 

Would it? Thoughts could lie. Emotions were harder to hide; more honest. 

Stupid ability. 

“Ssssssssssssssssh,” Kawai breathed a warning. He gripped Steve’s forearm and squeezed once. 

“What?” Steve said out of the corner of his mouth. Only Kawai’s stilling hand prevented Steve from venturing forwards to investigate. 

“Turehu pō hākilo,” Kawai said, softly. The iron grip on Steve’s forearm tightened. “Ho’ohālua.. Ho’okalakupua.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, but he got the warning. He moved without thought. He needed to see what watched. 

“`A ehē!” Kawai wrenched him backwards. 

That was unmistakably ‘no’ but not the Hawaiian `A`ole!

“Why?” 

“Nama!” Kawai chastised, and shook Steve’s arm. 

“I’m not that kind of man, Kawai. There’s something over there. I have to see.” Deftly, he rotated his forearm over Kawai’s hand. He smoothly stepped towards and around the kahuna to slip out of his grip as if he wasn’t even held. 

In the wake of Kawai’s surprised exclamation, Steve strode into the bushes. 

The trees were short and the understory dense. Striding forwards, man-on-a-mission, was not possible. A machete was needed. Steve forced his way, bending branches backwards with his forearm. Ahead of him was that fleeting, ephemeral thought. The hawk screeched _eeeh-oh eeeh-oh eeeh-oh_ protesting his intrusion into her domain. The thought moved slipping easily amidst the undergrowth that no man could wade through. A sharp, unseen edge in a wall of branches, trunks and twigs, gashed his arm. 

“Damn it all to Hell!” Steve swore at the wall. 

A laugh tickled his senses and disappeared on a breath of wind as if dissipating firework sparkles. Steve caught a tantalising glimpse of sunlight on red hair. 

“Kila?” Steve called. The shade was close to the colour of Kila’s red hair. He shook his head; the strands had been long and straight, not corkscrew curls. 

“Nama S’eve!” Kawai shouted. 

“Geez.” Steve glanced over his shoulder. Baby Steve? Thank God, Danny wasn’t here. 

_I do call you ‘Babe’ for a reason._

_Shut up._

Holding his arm higher than his heart, he clamped his hand over the profusely bleeding gash as he extracted himself from the bushes. Kawai shook his head as Steve stepped over the sharp edge that separated village from the forest. 

Steve had seen the expression gracing Kawai’s face on a lot of people, but mostly on Danny’s. 

“It’s only a cut,” Steve protested. 

Kawai pointed back to his home. Steve followed, once again dragging his feet. 

            ~*~

Steve manipulated his wrist. Kawai was a deft doctor. He had applied paste of ‘ie’ie to the wound and then wrapped Steve’s arm tightly in banana leaves. The cut pinched so Steve figured that the ‘ie’ie was astringent, and hopefully an antiseptic. 

“Turehu pō,” Kawai said deliberately, and cocked his head to the side. “Turehu-ao.”

“I don’t know that word. I don’t understand. Pō? Ao?” Steve rolled the word around. “Ao… Earth? World? Damn it all. Why am I here? It makes no sense. I am here. I know that. It’s too concrete for a dream.”

“Turehu-ao,” Kawai repeated. He held his hand flat at chest height. “Ao. O keia ao.” 

“Right?” Steve drawled, waiting for more intel. 

“No wahi ao.” Kawai lifted his hand high, and then dropped it low. “Kea o o Milu.”

“Okay. World above and world below?” Steve hazarded. He echoed Kawai’s words and gestures. 

“Turehu-ao.” Kawai eyed Steve carefully. He elegantly twisted his hands back to back, palms facing outwards, and then lightly interlaced his fingers. “Turehu-ao, ē auakua ē.” 

Instinctively, Steve mirrored Kawai’s motion, but he was driven to scatter his hands apart, fingers frittering to the winds. 

“Otherworld,” Steve said with surety. “Turehu-ao is the otherworld. Turehu pō live in the otherworld.”

Kawai nodded, reading Steve’s body language

“So we saw denizens of the otherworld, here. I wonder where the Hell I am, ‘cos this is the otherworld. Other-otherworld visitors?” Steve said ruefully. 

Cocking his head to the side, Kawai clearly didn’t follow. 

“Am I?” Steve tapped his chest. “Turehu pō?” 

Kawai rocked back on his heels and laughed, uproarishly, showing a raft of teeth. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” Steve said out loud to the rest of the world.

Kawai patted at his chest trying to contain his laughing. The laughter was almost, but not quite, contagious. 

Steve waited for the hilarity to pass. 

Kawai hee-ed out a final laugh, palm of his hand supporting his ribs. Steve did not like being laughed at. 

“Pōtiki ei Turehu-ao o keia ao.” Kawai reached out and ran the flat palm of his broad hand over Steve’s dark hair. “Tautangata.” 

“I wish I knew what you were saying.” Steve remained frozen as Kawai lightly brushed the tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. 

Deliberately, conscious of Steve’s unease, Kawai laid their arms lengthways. He gripped Steve’s unbandaged forearm. Automatically, Steve returned the hold, one of comrade meeting comrade. 

“Tautangata.” Kawai tapped their arms with his free hand, finger extended. His brown hand was a purposeful contrast to Steve’s tanned white skin.

“Different?” Steve offered, knowing that he was missing an important point. 

“’Uhane.” Again with the fillip of differentness. “’Uhane hele.” 

“Well, I’m glad that’s clear.” Steve sulked. He stood up, the top of his head brushing the pili grass of the ceiling. 

“S’eve?” 

“So.” Steve extended one finger. He had arrived at the ko`a. The world was irrational. But he hadn’t arrived at Kawai’s village, he had arrived at the fishing shrine. “I meditated and we’re now here. I meditated in the vicinity of a sacred ko`a. A site is… was… will be… vandalised by people that even a sentinel can’t detect? Shit. Okay, come on, Kawai.”

“S’eve?”

“I’m an idiot, Danny.” 

_Yep, but you knew that already._

            ~*~

The cave was a dark maw. The mouth threatening and speaking words that Steve couldn’t hear. 

“You know this is really annoying.” Steve Danny-gestured at the cave. “This isn’t a dream. If it was a dream I would have started flying by now. It’s not a dream. But perhaps it’s an altered state; it’s a concrete representation of another reality. Fuelled by my imagination? I wish Danny was here.” 

Kawai still stood on the rocks above, looking down at him. A deep unease hovered in his dark eyes. 

“What is the cave? Why is the shrine on top of the creepy cave?” Steve made a deliberate step towards the dark mouth. And he wasn’t even remotely surprised when Kawai made the jump down onto the sand. “The cave is the obvious suspect.” 

“Nama.” Kawai set a single finger on the centre of Steve’s chest. 

“I am not a baby.” 

“Nama!” Kawai tapped him hard. “Turehu pō, noho ‘oia malaila ā make. Saquat." 

“What!” Steve almost screamed his frustration. 

Kawai stepped back, a profoundly disappointed slump to his shoulders

“Nama,” he said angrily. Plainly frustrated, he mashed his clawed fingers together, eating the baby. “‘Uhane hele.”

“It’s gonna eat me?” Steve said with a hint of disbelief. 

Kawai actually rolled his eyes, his clawed fingers clenched into fists. He froze to collect his thoughts. Blowing out a deeply disgruntled wheeze, he tapped the point of his tattooed chin with his fist, and clearly thought hard and frustratedly. 

“I’m not a baby,” Steve repeated. But he was kind of a baby. He was essentially untrained and feeling his way through being a guide. Danny’s dad said that he walked through the world wide open for anyone to see. Any guide on seeing him would gibber. The skills that he had gained reluctantly were all about attack, and, as a trained commanding officer, he innately knew that was not a solid solution. 

Kawai stepped, setting his body between Steve and the cave. 

“I’m vulnerable because I’m an untrained -- baby -- guide?” Steve offered. “But what if I have to go into that cave to go home? Whatever the hell this place is, I’m guessing that this is a representation of my empathy? Or maybe it’s just a cave? The cave at the centre of --”

Steve spun away pacing. 

“Danny!” he hollered at the sky above. “Danny! Danny!” 

            ~*~


	4. Part Four

**Part Four**

“Danny!”

“What?” Danny hollered back at Steve standing before him squalling at the heavens, fists clenched and head tipped back. _What the Hell is happening?_ “Holy--” 

“Danny?” Steve’s yelling switched from angry demand to rife with joy in the space of a spoken vowel and consonant.

“Steven! What the Hell did you do now?” Danny was back on the damnable beach. And the sun was shining with a weird blue tinge. He spun around in the tightest circle ever spun, taking it all in at once. “We were in the portacabin.” 

“Nothin’,” Steve said defensively. 

Lowering his chin, Danny pinned him with a stare. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Steve said, backtracking like a toddler caught with a marker before a formally pristine wall. He slumped, fractionally. “I just _wanted_ you.” 

Those words soothed like a quaff of honeyed bourbon. 

“Babe,” Danny said with a soupçon of affection. Steve was a goof, but he was _Danny’s_ goof. 

Danny was a sentinel and he catalogued twenty-four/seven. He already knew that Steve had a cut on his forearm wrapped in something vegetative and astringent. Steve was a golden-tanned god standing in the summer sun, not freezing to death under the onslaught of a glowering, evil tropical storm. There wasn’t a sound of anything overtly human other than a small collection of people four hundred yards to North West. There was also an interloper in very close proximity. 

“What. Why. How. Who?” Danny demanded. “What is that stench? Why is this happening? How is this happening? And who is the guy in the diaper?” 

“Geez.” Steve hung his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.” 

“And was I asked?” Danny slung his arms out wide. “What. Is. Going. On?”

“The smell is Akoko plants. They normally smell like that. I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know, yet, how this happened. And this is Kawai, he’s a kahuna.” 

“Right.” Danny narrowed his eyes at the shorter guy. PIMA, his cop brain summarised. Threat assessment: low. Circa fifty-five to sixty years of age. Sentinel senses told him that this Kawai guy was healthy. 

Kawai met Danny’s gaze with his own interested contemplation. Plainly amused he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. 

“What kind of kahuna? The Lappy one or the evil sorcerer one that steals your soul?” Danny asked. 

“La'au Lapa'au,” Steve corrected automatically. “I don’t know. Kawai hasn’t said. He’s not evil, though. He’s good.”

Steve primarily thought in black and white. It was endearing, but an exploitable vulnerability. 

“Did you ask?” Danny took a deep breath, because, while he didn’t want to contemplate the actual _spirit_ world that he had been dumped in, there was an unmistakable, unavoidable faint blue tint to everything. The colours were all stretched and wrong, as if filtered. Sentinel training pretty much conclusively said that blue visions meant the unbelievably, preposterous advent of actually having a vision. “Did this kahuna bring us here? Is it his dreamscape?” 

“I’m kind of guessing from the vein throbbing in your forehead that you’ve got a headache,” Steve said. “Do you normally get headaches when you’re dreaming?” 

“I’m not dreaming. It’s a vision; altered state. Didn’t the blue give that away?” 

“Blue?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, it’s like wearing hippy shades, everything’s got a funky blue tint.” 

“Really?” Steve turned on his heel, scanning the horizon. “It just looks like normal. Home. A thousand years ago but home. People look like people.” 

“No blue tint?” Danny double checked. 

“No blue tint,” Steve confirmed. 

Danny focused all of his considerable attention on Kawai the Kahuna. They might be in a vision but his senses provided tangible, measurable information, as if they were in their own backyard. The stranger was waiting with a surprising amount of amused patience. 

“Danny, Kawai.” Steve opened his palm towards the kahuna. “Kawai, Danny. Sentinel.” 

“Hey, Kawai,” Danny finally greeted. “So, what type of kahuna are you?” 

“Kawai’s kānaka, there’s no reason why he should speak English,” Steve said. 

“Yeah, right. Well, in my vision everyone speaks English.” 

“I don’t think that this is a vision, Danny,” Steve said. “It feels real.”

“Have you pinged this guy? “ Danny asked. “Did you? Did he feel real?” 

“Yeah, I pinged him. I pinged him when I got here. He only wants to help us, me, the guide-spirit walker that’s accidently visited his ko`a.”

“What about feelers?” Danny asked suspiciously, referring to the spider web of emotional attachment between people that Steve could mentally map. “Did you check for feelers?” 

Steve shook his head. He shifted foot to foot. 

“Go on then.” Danny pointed at the kahuna. He didn’t care that he could hear the soft susurrus of a beating heart or the rush of breath. Steve was such a reluctant guide. 

“No, Danny. I trust him. We’re really here.” 

“Define real,” Danny said. 

“Kanne, kaimat’iira panua,” Kawai finally spoke. He held his hand palm face down at chest height and looked expectantly at Steve. “O keia ao.”

“Kaimat’iira panua?” Steve got the pronunciation so bad that even Danny winced. 

“’Uhane ē ta tautangata.” Kawai made a step towards Steve, and stopped when Danny growled. “Kaimat’iira panua.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, voice rife with understanding. “Sentinel.” 

“What?” Danny leaned forward. 

“It’s just a guess. Kaimat’iira panua is sentinel? I know that ‘uhane, or as Kawai says it ‘uhaaneey,” Steve drawled out all the vowels especially the last one, making it sound only vaguely like the Hawaiian word for guide. “I figure tautangata means different or white or alien, or something like that.”

“He doesn’t speak Hawaiian?” Danny said suspiciously. This wasn’t like any sort of vision that had been described to him in training. Admittedly, it was only one lecture in a whole semester, but it was compulsory, and they had had a test afterwards. No sentinel who Danny had ever met had had a vision or admitted to it. 

“It’s not Kawai’s role to be our teacher,” Steve said seriously. “He’s a friend who is trying to help. He’s a good guy.” 

Danny heaved out the mother of all sighs. Why was his life so complicated? In Jersey he had been a simple sentinel, utilising his gifts in the prescribed and expert manner to which he had been trained, despite the fact that he had not had a guide. His life had been _uncomplicated_. 

Coming to Hawaii had been the advent of freakin’ weirdness from day one -- along with the infernal weather and the giant ocean. 

_Guides_ , Danny thought darkly. 

“So, one, you came here,” Danny said, “two, you dragged me here, three, how do we get home?” 

Steve’s gaze slid sideways. Danny tracked his line of sight. A tall pyramid of bleached, hollow coral skeletons and weird cut stones sat atop of the rocks. The triangular spit of rocks was cut with a jet black crack leading deep under the reef. 

“What’s that?” Danny made a step and Kawaii moved right, breaking his line of sight between them and the cave. 

“Danny, no.” Steve’s arm came out. “That’s a ko`a; it’s an important shrine.” 

“Really,” Danny drawled. 

“Danny,” Steve said warningly. “Don’t treat it like you treated the heiau.”

“Or?” Danny eyed Steve sassily, because Steve wouldn’t be able to stop him, if he decided to go check out that freakin’ cave. 

“Look at it,” Steve said emphasising _look_.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He stretched out his skin as if shrugging off a fitted coat. 

Sight had to follow sound, one of the more ridiculous directions ever uttered, but it worked. Steve had a lot to say in response to sentinels seeing around corners. But, as Danny knew, Steve was a scientist at heart, and questioned -- it was part of the reason why he struggled with guiding. The cave mouth was a narrow gullet, a stomach like hollow widened at the back. Matching the coral monument on the top of the rocky outcrop, in the centre of the cave sat another offering on top of a slate black boulder. Bones, mossy-green coated bones, were stacked neatly. A skull coated with the patina of age sat on top of the pyre. The chitter of a black crab sitting in the eye socket of the skull made Danny shudder. 

“Okay, creepy,” Danny summarised. “There’s a dude in there.” 

“What?” Steve crouched, squinting and failing to pierce the depths.

“Tall guy judging by the length of the femurs.” 

“Skeleton?” Steve asked. 

“Yep. Bones. In a neat little pile.” Danny stepped forwards, and wasn’t surprised that Steve’s large hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Danny.” 

“What. What. What?” Danny lifted his wrist up between them, dragging Steve’s arm. “Why not?” 

“Because it’s not disturbed.” Steve’s changeable eyes were a washed out grey matching a stormy ocean elsewhere. “Not here, any rate.” 

“But it’s disturbed--” Danny jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, “--back at the building site?” 

“You tell me, Danny.” Steve lifted his chin. “You’re the sentinel.” 

“Nel, ka noho nei te Turehu pō,” Kawai said. 

“Did you understand that? I didn’t understand that,” Danny said, giving Steve’s arm a little shake. 

“I don’t know,” Steve grimaced. Taking a deep breath, he said with deliberation, “`Aumākua, Kawai?” 

Kawai made the head-tilt of _I kind of get what you mean; but you’re not saying it right_. 

“`Aumākua?” Kawai tested the word on his tongue. 

“Shark?” Steve tried, and then shook his head. 

“It’s a person in there, Steven,” Danny said. “Not shark bones. No shark skull. Why are you thinking sharks?” 

“Sharks have a cartilaginous skeleton, they wouldn’t survive very long,” Steve corrected. 

“Science Steve.” Danny rolled his eyes. “Seriously, sharks? Why sharks?”

“Manō.” Steve’s attention was on Kawai. He tapped his own chest indirectly indicating the shark tattoo on Kawai’s broad chest, and then pointed to the cave. 

“Nama.” Kawai stomped his foot into the sand. A frustrated torrent rushed from his lips, words like water scattering into the sand. He mashed clawed fingers together. 

“I get it. I get it.” Steve released Danny’s wrist and held his hands up as if at gun point. “No cave. And I won’t let Danny go in there either.” 

“Well, I don’t get it. The cave is the interesting thing here, yes? Why shouldn’t we go and have a looksee?” 

“Because….” 

“Oh, that’s helpful. That didn’t work when I was six and it won’t work when I’m thirty six.” 

“Danny,” Steve said sharply. “You don’t have the right to go into that shrine. Wanting to, doesn’t give you the right. Kawai is saying it as clear as day that he doesn’t want us to go into the cave -- that it is dangerous.”

“Danger’s your middle name,” Danny said. “You are the veritable definition of a danger magnet!” 

Steve drew in a slow, deep breath. 

“If I have to go in the cave, I will go in the cave. But it’s not necessary at this time.” 

“And what if I say it is?” 

“And what are you basing that on?” Steve leaned forwards, slightly. 

“You’ve been unconscious for over an hour. You’re freezing cold, going hypothermic. There’s a massive storm on top of us,” Danny failed to stop speaking louder and louder. “And I can barely feel your pulse!” 

Steve froze. 

Danny went for the freakin’ cave. 

Movement always galvanised Steve. He grabbed at Danny, catching his sleeve. 

“No!” 

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Danny said, dragging them towards his goal. “You’ve tried everything else, haven’t you?” 

Steve went still. 

“You’ve tried everything else, haven’t you?” Danny spun right into Steve’s face. “You have, haven’t you? Meditation? Even clicking your heels together, Dorothy?” 

Steve was a statue. 

“You haven’t tried anything have you?” Danny realised. Typical, freaking Steve! “You’ve been too busy exploring this fascinating, whole new world.” 

“It never occurred to me,” Steve said sheepishly. 

“Of course, it didn’t. You went looking for the external solution instead of the internal solution, didn’t you?” Danny shook off Steve’s grip. “Well, go on then.” 

“And do what?” Steve lifted his hands, shoulders riding high.

“Focus.” Danny tapped hard on Steve’s sternum with a fingertip. “I know. I know. Action. Reaction. Define objective, decide strategy, and execute. This is outside your skillset. But you _are_ a guide. Meditation, whatever, concentrate on that weird sensation that you were picking up on that brought you here.” 

Strangely, Steve glanced at Kawai for reassurance. But he was listening to Danny. 

“Okay.” Steve stood taller. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep slow breath and released it through his mouth. Involuntarily, his eyes closed. 

Danny flicked a glance over his shoulder at the older guy, and nodded his thanks. 

Steve was humming some composition under his breath, very lightly and intermittently. Danny didn’t think that he was even aware that he was humming. The music had a rhythmic and measured beat. 

Danny slid further into Steve’s orbit. He didn’t know how this was going to work. But he had faith in Steve. Resting the palm of his hand over Steve’s heart, he concentrated on the reassuring lub-bub, lub-bub….

            ~*~

 


	5. Part Five

**Part Five**

Danny sat up and punched the interloper looming over him in the jaw. 

“Je-,” the local-looking guy toppled out of sight. 

“Danny.” Chin was in Danny’s face grabbing his wrist and forcing it down to stop him dead. “They’re EMTs. They’re trying to help.” 

“Steve?” 

Steve was on a gurney, cocooned in blankets, and an oxygen mask strapped over his face. He was too far away -- on the other side of the room, ready for transport. 

“What’s happening?” There had been a dream, a weird hallucination? The memory of a man in a loincloth frittered between Danny’s thoughts. Wobbling precariously, he struggled to his feet to stagger across the room. 

Chin shadowed him, poised, but not touching, ready to catch. 

“You.” Danny pointed his finger in the face of the female EMT backing towards the door pulling Steve’s gurney. Kono held the other end. 

“Give over,” the stocky, white woman griped, accent strong and foreign born -- northern European. “I know that you’re a sentinel, but, you know, get your act together. You’re a rational, human being not an animal. We’ve gotta get your pal to hospital, and get him warmed up. You playing the stressed sentinel card isn’t going to help.” 

Danny reared back, actually surprised at the brutal candour. 

“You a guide?” Danny asked immediately. 

“No,” she said, moving backwards down the portacabin’s steps, holding the end of the gurney high and level. “I’ve got twin toddlers. Geez.” 

Kono snorted. 

The other EMT sidled past Danny, hauling an armload of medical kit like a packhorse. 

“Mr. Kelly, can you help Sentinel Williams into the ambulance.” He had a purple bruise already blossoming on his dark cheek. 

Danny was momentarily bamboozled. So bamboozled, he let them take his guide out into the storm. Chin came up against his side, wrapping a crinkly thermal sheet uncomfortably around his bare shoulders. 

“What’s happening?” Danny asked, confused. Shored up by Chin, they limped in Steve and the EMTs’ wake. 

“You tell me, Brah.” Chin helped him down the metal steps. The wind with pinpricks of sharp drizzle lashed Danny’s face. “You came here to investigate the sabotage. Your car got vandalised. You were waiting for Triple A, and then you were calling for MEDEVAC.” 

“I don’t understand.” The sky was dark and heavy, pressing down with all its inconsiderable weight. The sharp wind was vile. “The sea wanted him. The sea wants him. Sharks. We were elsewhere. I think?” 

“The sea wants him?” Chin echoed his words, searching for meaning. 

“You’ve got to stop the development. It will only get worse.” Danny glowered at the wet, dark green forest hemming the enclave. 

“Why’s that?” Chin handed Danny up to the stroppy EMT waiting in the back of the ambulance. 

She held Danny with care, helping him sit in a high-backed seat with Formula-One seatbelts to criss-cross his chest. The other EMT was helping Steve, setting up an I.V. Danny looked away as the skin on Steve’s unbandaged forearm was wiped, in preparation to pierce his skin. 

“Danny?” Chin said by the open ambulance doors. “What’s happening here? Will it be enough to stop the project or is there something that we need to do?” 

“I dunno…. I don’t know. Something guidey.” Danny swallowed hard, trying to stop his teeth chattering. “Get Kila to check this place out, to do something kahuna-y. Appease the spirits.” 

“Appease the spirits?” Chin’s focus sharpened to samurai steel levels. 

Danny shook his head. He didn’t know. He was making this up as he went along. He didn’t believe in spirits. He was so cold. Why was nothing making sense?

He sighed in relief as Chin closed the doors encasing them in a safe, metal box. 

“So are your levels okay, Sentinel?” the EMT asked. 

“My name’s Danny.”

“’Kay. I’m Faye, Danny.” Her top lip curled in something close to a smile. “You’re not going to throw a spanner in the works by zoning? Dispatch could only send us to help you. Ideally, you would have an ambulance all of your very own. Levels, Danny?”

“Fine.” Danny nodded his head, underpinned by tremors. 

“Evan’s gonna drive. I’m gonna help you both, okay?”

“Call ahead, and get Dr. Bundaberg to meet us at Queens.” Danny had a good head for numbers. “808-583-696.”

“Okay.” Faye glanced at her partner, who was about to dart out of the side door, so he could get to the front cab, and drive. 

“Noted.” He gave them a thumbs up, and slammed out of the door. 

“Have you got a--” Danny gave in momentarily to a massive shiver that boarded on a shudder, “--glucose drip or something similar? Steve needs nutrition. Not glucose. He needs vitamins and minerals.” 

“We’ll figure out what to do when we talk to your doctor.” 

“No!” Surprising them both, Steve sat bolt upright, or he would have if he hadn’t been lashed to the gurney. 

“Steve!” Danny jerked against his own seatbelts, automatically striving to get to him.

“Let me out,” Steve ordered. 

“Heh. Heh.” Faye leaned over Steve, reassuringly. “You’re okay. We’re on the way to Queens.” 

“No, we’re not. We--” the engine of the ambulance turned over, “--cannot leave.” 

“You had some kind of episode, you’re borderline hypothermic, and you’re going to Queens,” Faye said flatly. 

“Danny,” Steve ordered. 

“I agree with the nice EMT,” Danny said. The clasp on his belt failed to release. 

There was a sharp snick and Steve was sitting upright as the gurney straps parted under the draw of a razor sharp blade. Where the fuck had he hidden it? Steve had been stripped down to his boxer-briefs. 

“We’ve got to find the bones, Danny, before this gets worse.” Steve freed his feet. 

“No!” Faye tried and failed to get in Steve’s face. She was abruptly sitting on the gurney in Steve’s place, a disconnected I.V. in her lap. The port was still in his forearm.

“Come on, Danny!” Barefooted, Steve kicked open the back doors and leaped out of the ambulance as it started to pull away. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Danny thumped the release mechanism on his criss-crossing seatbelts. Adrenalin was a wonderful cure for exhaustion. 

“Oi! Stop!” Faye yelled. 

“Sorry,” he apologised to the EMT as he hared after his guide. 

            ~*~

Lightning arched across the heavens, illuminating the building site in sharp relief. A roll of thunder rocked on the lightning’s heels. The storm was immediately above them. Rain hammered down relentlessly, punishing in its intensity. Steve -- in the space of a heartbeat -- was soaked.

“Steve!” Chin stared at him opened mouthed. “What are--”

“There’s no time for that.” Steve blinked rain out of his eyes. “Go find the security guard and ask him if they have removed any bones from a cave on the seashore.”

“Bones?” Chin asked. 

“There was a ko`a there--” Steve pointed through the lashing rain at the flat, empty rock atop the cave, “--it’s been desecrated.” 

The ocean was riding high. The anger was palpable and it had been building since the shrine had been despoiled. Why had the builders gone into the cave? There was no reason; the resort was far up on the shore beyond the high water mark. 

Wrapped in a silvery cape, Danny stomped through the deep puddles across the lot. 

“Also ask him about coral and other offerings on that platform.” The builders had probably also removed the shrine, Steve thought furiously, offending the spirit. 

“Steve.” Rain plastered Danny’s hair flat against his skull. 

“Are the bones still in the cave?” Steve asked urgently. He caught Danny’s elbow and angled his body towards the jutting reef. “Check. Now.” 

“Check? Now?” Danny echoed, eyes narrowing. 

“We don’t have time for histrionics, Danny.” Steve breathed hard and fast. “Check.” 

“Check what?” Danny demanded. 

“The cave under the headland. Where the bones are. Kawai showed us.” 

“Kawai?

“What?” Steve realised that Danny looked like shit. He was paler than pale, and his hair was drooping flatter than his energy levels. “The vision. You were there, Danny.” 

“What vision?”

Steve shook his head. But needs must, he thought, pointing at the diamond sharp point of the rocky reef.

“There’s a ko`a. See if there’s a cave with bones under the rocks, Danny.” 

“I hate you so much.” Danny glowered at the rocks. Steve could only imagine the swoops of his sentinel sight penetrating the dark depths and the algae covered rocks. In the vision, Danny had described a pile of bones topped by a skull. 

“It’s still there,” Danny breathed, perplexed. “They’re, they’re -- broken, tossed about, but they’re there? I dreamt this, didn’t I?”

“Kono, go see if you can find some ti leaves.” Steve shivered so hard, it was as if he was jerking. 

“Ti leaves?” Kono eyed him through a sopping wet veil of hair.

“We don’t have time to argue!” Steve said uncharacteristically sharp. He slapped his palms against his face. 

“What are you planning, Steve?” Chin had to raise his voice over the roar of the storm, but his quiet intensity underscored his question. 

“We have to put the shrine back, go find the security guard, Chin.” 

“You’re not a kahuna, Steve,” Chin said soberly. But with a nod of his head, he headed to the rectangle of light that was the doorway to the security office. 

“Steven--” Danny began. 

“It’s gonna get worse, Danny,” Steve road down hard on Danny’s opening salvo. 

“And putting this ‘shrine’ back is gonna stop it? It’s a freakin’ storm, it’s a force of nature, wind and clouds and twisting cyclones.” Danny whipped his finger in the air. “It’s not mystical!” 

“Danny--” Steve dashed the rain clumping his eyelashes out of his eyes, “--it will, I don’t know how, but it will. This isn’t a natural storm. The sea is roiling dark and angry. You know that. Don’t you feel it?” 

Steve could feel it in his bones. The shriek of the wind scored his nerves. The ocean was lashing higher than he had ever seen waves at this latitude. The moon was wrongly positioned for high-high tides at this point in the lunar cycle. If he dwelt on what he was doing for one moment, he would get in that ambulance and give up. The building typhoon would decimate the east side of the island. 

“You were there!” Steve shouted. “Kawai told us not to go in the cave. The Turehu pō has been disturbed. Or he’s been freed.”

“Kawai?” Danny shook his head. “The blue dream? I-- This storm feels like a storm!” 

“Something else, then!” Steve couldn’t stop shouting. “In the ocean? In the forest?” 

Danny glowered immediately at the ocean. 

“The shark--” he said. 

A bolt of lightning cascaded across the turbulent heavens in fractured patterning of blinding white and sharp black shadow. The eye-searing flash was besieged by a thundering cacophony. The storm was directly above their heads. Steve’s ears rang and blipped out in a strange counterpoint to his blurring vision. The lightning blast had blown out, echoing an IED explosion in a painful memory. 

“Danny? Danny?” He spun on his heel. Danny would not have been prepared in any way or form for that violent assault on his senses. 

Danny lay flat on his back, arms and legs akimbo. He stared straight up at the sky, oblivious to the rain falling directly in his eyes. Steve dropped to his knees and leaned over Danny, shielding him with his body. He stroked Danny’s face. 

“Danno? You okay?” Steve winced because that was a stupid, stupid question. “You want to focus on me?” 

He kept up the gentle caress over Danny’s bristly jawline. Danny’s pupils were pin-point small, traumatised by the actinic white lightning. Danny zoned so infrequently that Steve barely knew what to do. 

“Danny, come back. I know. I know, your ears are ringing and it’s much more comfortable in there, but, well, you look like a dork lying on the grass, and you’re getting mud in your hair.” 

Deliberately, Steve pinged Danny. Sensory information came back to him on the rebound. Danny’s emotions were muted, but they were dominated by pain and distress, which was why sentinels zoned. They got lost and overloaded. A bright light hurt. Loud sound wounded. Harsh surfaces abraded. 

Steve could manipulate emotions. Did that extend to reducing pain? Modifying distress, he could wrap his head around because it was internal rather than the expression of injured and over-loaded nerves. 

“Hey. Hey.” Steve stroked the curve of Danny’s face. The feeling of distress was red, sullen and intrusive. The red soothed with every stroke, the hues lightening. Steve didn’t think that he would ever be able to calm Danny to a mirrored silver. 

Danny blinked. 

“Hey, there you are.” Quickly, he pressed a kiss on Danny’s forehead. 

“McGarrett, let us help.” A man with a bruised cheek wearing an EMT’s uniform crouched at his side. 

“What? No.” Steve scowled. He focused on his sentinel. “Danny, I need you.” 

Danny was more than a sentinel, he was a dad. Many things defined his existence, but responding to need was at the heart of everything that he did. 

“What?” Danny sat up abruptly. So abruptly that Steve only narrowly missed being head butted. 

“You with?” Steve peered in Danny’s eyes. The pupils were now dilated responding to the storm-tossed night, harvesting all the possible light. 

“This island sucks!” Danny declared. 

“Yeah, I know.” Steve loaned Danny a hand to drag him to his feet. The silver thermal blanket was left in the mud. Danny weaved forward, and would have face planted except for Steve’s supporting hand. 

“Whoa.” Danny blinked. “Head rush.” 

“You guys need to get into that ambulance now!” The chunky woman from the ambulance said uncompromisingly, and reached for Danny. 

“Don’t lay a hand on him,” Steve growled batting her hand away. “He’s hypersensitive and overloaded.” 

Why were these people trying to stop him? Steve wondered for a mere heartbeat. He was trying --

“Hey.” Danny poked him in the chest. His head wobbled on his neck like a bobble doll. “Don’t speak for me. I’m fine. Maybe.” 

“Steve.” Chin came across the lot. Under the pummelling rain the cardboard box in his arms was rapidly disintegrating. The security guard, Craig, trailed in his wake. 

“Is that it?” Steve asked urgently. 

“Partly.” Chin looked darkly over his shoulder at Craig. “The _interesting_ pile of coral and fossils were ripe for the picking. The corals were tossed, but Craig kept the fossils.” 

“They were just laying on the beach,” Craig protested. “I wasn’t doing any harm. I was on my rounds.” 

“You desecrated a heiau, brah,” Chin said uncompromisingly. 

“What the Hell is a hay-ow?” Craig demanded. 

“Oh, sounds familiar.” Danny weaved under Steve’s hand. “Heh, you’re cursed now. Enjoy, it’s awesome.” 

Chin opened the box, and angled the opening so they could see the contents. 

A large rock nautilus shell sat on what looked like wadded up paper hand towels. The fossil glistened with an echo of its colours in life under the driving rain and bright security lights around the portacabin. An unmistakably sharp, finger length shark-tooth was tucked down the side of the box. Two fossilised cowrie shells and what once might have been a turbo or a small conch that was broken into fragments were the other offerings.

“I would have thought,” Chin said pointedly, “that the local kahuna would have protested this removal.” 

“If you’re asking me if anyone did protest, no one has.” Craig shifted from foot to foot. “At least not when I’ve been on shift!” 

“The old guy.” Danny coughed wetly into a closed fist. “This all kicked off when a body was found. An old guy who died of natural causes. I bet he was your kahuna.” 

“I’ve got the ti leaves!” Kono sprinted across the lot, puddles splashing in her wake, holding them high. 

“What are you going to do, Steve? You’re not a kahuna. It’s not your role,” Chin said soberly. His face was drawn, with cheekbones prominent, paler than Steve had ever seen him, pummelled and chilled by the unseasonably cold storm. 

“No, it’s not.” Steve knew that. He also knew that it wasn’t Danny’s role. Danny was the Sentinel of Hawaii, he wasn’t a kahuna. He wasn’t even remotely capable of appeasing spirits. Antagonising them, yes -- yes, indeed.

“You’re local. Kono’s related to King Kalākaua.” Steve looked directly at the male EMT and lifted his chin in question. The man’s colouring and facial features were clearly Polynesian. 

“On my mom’s side we go all the way back,” he said proudly. “Kānaka.”

“Oh, Evan, you’ve got to be kidding!” the female EMT railed. “You guys need to get in that ambulance and let us take you to Queens.” 

“Nah, Faye, the Guide of Hawaii and the Sentinel say this needs doing, it needs doing,” he said respectfully. 

“We may be of the islands,” Chin said as he gently pulled the box close to his chest, “but we’re not kahunas. It’s disrespectful.” 

“It’s about intent, Chin,” Steve could say that with confidence. “You believe. You respect your traditions. Rebuild the ko`a, apologise, make an offering.”

“So we’re applying a band aid?” Kono clutched the ti leaves, leaves crinkling. 

“No. It’s about intent and belief.” He tried to get his ideas across to Chin, Kono and Evan. “If you’re honest in your intentions, I think that it can work. You’re all protectors of the Islands of Hawai’i. You’re healers and you work to safeguard people and the land.” 

Danny was biting his lip so hard that Steve was afraid that he would make it bleed. 

“All we can do….” Chin paused, reversed and revised his words. “All that I am comfortable with, is beseeching the spirit for understanding and for forgiveness.” 

The wind howled. Rising static electricity with the hammering rain was a foul and unpleasant combination. 

“I think if we’re going to do anything, we have to do it sooner rather than later,” Danny said sagaciously. 

Steve concurred, under the heavy weight of the storm above and the lashing tide pummelling them with icy spray. 

“Come on,” Chin took charge and led Kono and Evan to the rocky platform. 

The other EMT rolled her eyes. She overtly and dramatically consulted her wristwatch. 

“Five minutes. Five minutes and you two are getting in my ambulance, and we’re leaving.” 

“I’m down with that,” Danny self-hugged, vainly trying to retain some body heat. 

“Oh, damn it. Wait here. I’m an idiot.” She stomped towards the ambulance. 

“So what do we do, O Great Guide of Hawaii?” Danny asked sarcastically. 

“Loan a hand.” Steve started to walk towards the threesome, beckoning Danny to follow. “Think positive thoughts.” 

“Positive thoughts?” Danny griped. “Not really my thing.” 

Chin, Kono and Evan stood at three points with the fossils positioned at their feet. Kono had laid the ti leaves in a circle around the stones. 

Steve stopped, well back. He truly felt, and concurred with Chin, that this wasn’t their role. Both he and Danny could help, contribute and advise, but they couldn’t lead. 

“Here.” The EMT returned with two fluorescent raincoats. She summarily thrust the coats into Steve and Danny’s arms. “Put these on.” 

The plastic fabric was tackily uncomfortable against Steve’s bare skin, but he immediately felt warmer. 

“Thanks, Faye.” Danny pulled the voluminous hood over his head with a sigh of relief. The coat hung on him, only the tips of his fingers poking out from the sleeves. 

Faye breathed out a hard done by sigh, and then bowed her head over her clasped hands, praying. 

“Oh.” Danny mumbled and shifted from foot to foot, as uncomfortable as a kid being dragged to Sunday school by his mom. 

Steve had had no formal religious upbringing. He was pretty sure that his mom, like Danny, was an atheist. Although, to be accurate, Danny was verging on agnosticism. His dad? Steve simply didn’t have a clue. But Steve did know the Navy prayer – 23rd psalm. He fractionally bowed his head and began to whisper it under his breath. The prayer was at its heart about protection. 

Steve didn’t know if Danny was praying, or more likely demanding whatever was upset to chill out, but the sudden sensation of peace across the mental bond that bound them was more palpable and robust than it had ever felt before. 

Danny kept demanding that he chill out, but maybe Danny should try the meditation gig?

Steve laughed, totally inadvertently. 

“Steven!” Danny chided immediately. “Behave.” 

He felt like he was four. 

“Honestly, you guys are just like my sons,” Faye growled. “They’re _three_.” 

Steve bent his thoughts back to the prayer. _Yea, though the tempest rages, I shall not be afraid, for He knoweth the ways of the sea_. Steve was incapable of shutting his eyes, especially in a taut situation. _And the strength of each ship launched upon the ocean of life. His compass and His steering wheel are true_.

Chin was leading the threefold knot of adherents, his words low and indistinct. 

The air was vibrant. 

Curiosity killed the cat, Steve thought, but satisfaction brought it back. 

Undeniably, there was something going on here that was outside the bounds of general perception. The journey to the other place had been rife with non-physical overtones that he had tried to ignore, but he had followed Kawai’s conversation, broadly, and responded to the Turehu pō in the forest. 

He spent most of his time buttoned down quite firmly, but unconsciously, like any human, he picked up stuff. 

He had an ability that allowed him to better pick up _things_. 

Steve sent out a broad pulse of empathic intent and the world lit up around him. Clearly obvious were the tethers that intertwined Danny and himself with Chin and Kono. A criss-crossed square joined them, each with three twanging strands, singing different and complementary notes. The complicated knot weaved back and forth, constantly moving. Chin was deliciously cerebral, the point over the centre of his eyes was the source of all his bonds. Kono -- hands, fingers -- touching, feeling, sensing and taking golden joy in holding her ‘Ohana close. The familiarity of Danny’s bond with him was a warm, luscious punch deep below his abdomen, both éros and agápe. 

Steve extended his perception, knowing that he picked up that which was more familiar easily. A lighter but no more concrete bond joined Faye and Evan -- head to heart and heart to head. A series of ties thick and robust, simultaneously short and long, distance being no object, joyfully reached for Faye’s two sons. 

Chin’s bond with Malia and their daughter resonated. Danny, of course, held Grace close enough to touch. All the colours were illuminated in his mind’s eyes in a kaleidoscope of colour. He pinged again, a submarine in the depths. 

The world was blindingly awash with colour as Steve sensed everything. 

It was hard to hold onto; analogous to holding his head up in storm tossed water. 

A grey, sullen malevolence, rife with affronted, aloof distance watched Chin, Kono, and Evan. 

Suspended between Chin, Kono and Evan was a sincere apology and a request for forgiveness. Steve could almost touch its soft pearlescent brightness. 

“Apologise,” Steve grated. 

“What?” Danny blinked. 

“Not you.” Steve swallowed hard. It was difficult to swim in these emotional waters. To force the security guard to apologise was such a simple thing to do, but to control him would derail what they were trying to achieve. To not compel obedience was hard. “You, Craig, apologise and _mean_ it.” 

If the man had been close enough to touch, Steve would have shook him vigorously. 

“Do it,” Danny growled, his imperious order red-coloured with threatening intent. 

“Uhm.” Craig looked heavenward, not even remotely in the direction of the malevolence out to sea. “I didn’t mean to hurt the hay-ow. It was an accident. I didn’t understand. I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

The final apology had been offered. A piercingly painful thought spoke, its essence only perceptible as emotion. Dismissive distaste; the insects had abased themselves. The threat of obliteration felt present, but the fickle entity could no longer be bothered. 

The sudden relief felt like nausea. 

“Oh, shit.” Steve’s control shattered and he threw up everything and the carrots that he hadn’t eaten. The blinding, headache-inducing riot of colours of the emotions around him derailed Steve’s surfing and finally fouled, he went under the engulfing waves. 

            ~*~

Steve knew this sensation; a tickle in the back of his nose, a tug of tape across his cheek, and one blocked nostril. 

Feeding tube. 

Paediatric enteral formula. 

Steve sighed; the teasing was going to be relentless. 

“I know that you’re awake,” Danny said conversationally. 

Steve cracked open an eye. Head pillowed, he was curled on his side, body still half lax with sleep. Danny sat next to him in a comfortable, patient-only armchair, a blanket on his lap. He gently held Steve’s hand. Steve squeezed his partner’s fingers and elicited a smile. 

“You all right?” Steve coughed lightly around the feeding tube down the back of his throat. 

“Me?” Danny pointed at his chest. “I’m fine. Chilled to the bone. The first human on Hawaii to develop pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia?” Steve pounced. 

“Hyperbole.” Danny waved it off. “Hypothermia.”

“You get those two words muddled up, don’t you?”

“No, me? Never.”

Steve didn’t need to be a guide to pick up that degree of obfuscation. 

“Have you been admitted?” Steve got to the heart of the matter. Danny was wrapped up warmly, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but a t-shirt, and what could be a hospital-issued robe under his blanket. 

“Twenty four hours observation. Same as you.”

“And we’re not in the same room?” Arthritically, Steve shifted onto his back, careful of the I.V. in the back of his free hand, and stiff limbs. Thankfully, and he twitched to double check, there was no foley catheter. 

“No, my bed’s over there.” 

Three yards too far away, Steve interpreted. He tugged on Danny’s hand. 

“What?” Danny asked, not moving a hair. 

Freeing his hand from Danny’s grasp, Steve patted the space he had made on the mattress. 

“There’s not enough room,” Danny said. 

“You’re pocket sized.” Steve shifted over another inch, pushing up against the security rails hemming him in. He flicked back the blankets. The sudden chill against his skin made him shiver. 

Sighing as if Steve was a constant chore, Danny clambered over the rail onto his side of the bed. He pushed his sock covered feet under the blankets and hauled the covers up and over them both. 

Steve lifted his arm, letting Danny get in close, to set his ear over his chest. The warmth was immediate.

“They,” Danny said, meaning the medical personnel, “won’t like this.” 

“What are they gonna do?” Steve wriggled down a little more comfortably. “Kick you out?” 

“One can hope. I’d like to leave before I get MRSA.” 

“How clean is this room? Clean, I bet.” It was a sentinel suite in the dedicated department for Sentinel and Guides. Sentinels could be picky bastards. And it wasn’t as if they had a lot of patients in this part of Queens, given that Danny was the only sentinel on the Islands of Hawaii. 

“I can’t pick up bacteria.” 

“Have you tried?” Steve asked. That would be interesting. It would require a degree of magnification that was biologically improbable with the mechanics of the lenses in Danny’s eyes, but he could see around corners. 

“Stop it,” Danny grumbled. 

“Stop what?” Steve pressed a kiss on the top of Danny’s golden hair. 

“Your brain. You’re awake. I want to sleep now.” 

“Okay,” Steve drawled. “First, how are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” Danny grumbled, already half asleep. “Just got cold -- stupid Hawaii. I thought that it was a tropical island.” 

“You can’t disobey the Laws of Physics.” 

Danny lifted his head a fraction and eyed Steve charily 

“Shut up.” Danny planted his head back, and started to snore. 

The sun was shining, and the sky was blue through the cracks in the blinds. The storm had passed as if it had never been. Steve lifted his arm, a pristine white bandage was wrapped around his forearm instead of the protection of leaves and carefully prepared salve. 

How had he hurt his forearm in the real world? Danny’s arm flung over his chest keeping him in place had a matching bandage. There were some gaps in Steve’s recollection of the last day or so. 

Tethered by Danny’s sleeping weight, he wasn’t going anywhere soon. Steve eyed the plastic urinal on the table beside his bed, and realised, reluctantly, sooner rather than later, he was going to be using it. 

            ~*~

_**tbc** _


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The consultants’ room was a little too small for five adults. Danny could have happily drop-kicked the hissing white noise generator through the plasterboard wall. And he hated the way the ceiling weighed down on him. The feeling felt like a disturbing harbinger of what was about to come.

They sat across a table from Bundaberg and two excruciatingly young doctors, both of whom Bundaberg had brought in _without_ consulting Danny. 

“Steve has some kind of biochemical disorder,” Dr. Bundaberg said without preamble. “Think of it as guide diabetes.” 

“Excuse me,” Steve said indignantly. 

“It’s an analogy, son,” Bundaberg said. “When you use your empathic abilities, you’re using up transmitters faster than you can manufacture them biochemically. Or you’re overloading receptors. I don’t know if it’s a kink in your DNA, nuclear encoded mitochondrial genes, or something else. The S-Team used the term Empathic Stress Overload to describe a complex syndrome. Clearly, you can guide, but you hit a threshold and essentially seize. While out, if supported, you build up your reservoir, reset in some way, and _voila_ back on track.”

“And if he goes too far?” Danny asked. “Or none of this _support_ is available?”

“If diabetics don’t get insulin they die.” 

“You locked it down before. Lock it down again,” Danny ordered immediately. 

“It doesn’t work like that, Danny. I can lock down short term,” Steve said imperturbable, “but I’ve got a sentinel now.”

Danny chewed on that, because at its heart that was an absolutely true, irrefutable, statement. They had changed since meeting each other. Change that had been catalysed on the very first day that they had met. 

“So what do we do?” Danny demanded from Dr. Bundaberg and the two medics -- a young woman of Pakistani descent and a slightly older white guy who had clearly been brought up in California judging by his Valley-esque accent. He had promptly forgotten the names of both of them, derailed by the claustrophobic room and the horrendous white noise generator. “What about the 5-HT2a thing that the Sentinel Central doctors who tried to kidnap us talked about?” 

“5-HT2a support.” The male doctor had an exacting, carefully maintained short dark beard -- very precisely shaved. Careful, diligent, a little vain, Danny judged. The doctor stroked his finger across an e-tablet, checking some text. “None of the material that Inspector Kelly was able to extract from Dr. Starck’s computer identified what 5-HT2a support consists of.”

“And Sentinel Central is not answering any questions,” Steve said rhetorically. 

“It did however, allow us to form hypotheses.” The bright young spark sitting on the other side of the table with Dr. Bundaberg and Dr. Connor Smith (Danny managed to remember) nodded seriously. She set her folded hands on the table top, clearly working not to appear too enthusiastic, and therefore, childish. Danny already had her identified as someone who gave a hundred and ten percent. 

“Just give him some 5-HT2a, whatever the Hell it is,” Danny demanded. “Diabetics get insulin injections.” 

“It’s not that easy, Sentinel Williams,” Conner said. 

“Detective Williams, or just go with Danny,” Danny said immediately. “And why not?” 

“Danny, 5-HT2a is a receptor in the serotonin receptor family,” Steve -- his own personal scientist -- said. “It’s not 5-HT2a , but 5-HT2a _support_ that we’re looking for.”

“There’s a delicate biochemical balancing act to be navigated,” the young woman said intently. “We’ve given Commander McGarrett a full work up, to the best of our ability--”

That they weren’t on the Mainland went unsaid. 

“--for example, his serotonin levels are now within the acceptable range. And the bloods which were taken when he was admitted showed that serotonin levels were lower but still optimum.”

“Optimum for whom?” Danny pounced. “Serotonin levels in guides might be different?” 

“You’re a hundred percent correct, Detective Williams,” Dr. Connor said, “and Commander McGarrett is our only guide patient, which makes it difficult to determine what is normal for guides. And as guides go he’s apparently rather unique.” 

Steve preened. Danny made a mental note to threaten the doctors with absolute death if they said anything to anyone about his unique guide. 

“Sero Sero? Serotonin?” Danny tested the word on his lips. “That’s got something to do with depression, hasn’t it!” 

“Danny.” Steve set a hand on Danny’s forearm, over the bandage protecting the cut. “I’m not depressed.” 

Danny was rendered mute. 

“Remember 5-HT2a _support_ ,” Steve said. “Picture a baseball game. You’ve got all the team players out on the field. But you don’t get to play in a game without the training, the coach, equipment, and having a place to practice. What’s most important? Everything is important. 5-HT2 \-- no A -- is like the equipment, but when we’re talking about 5-HT2a we might mean the balls, bats, or uniforms to support the baseball game.” 

“Your analogies suck,” Danny said, despite it sort of making sense. “What’s the serotonin in this analogy?” 

“Serotonin was a bad example to use. The 5-HT2a receptor does belong to the serotonin receptor family,” Dr. Bundaberg said. “The 5-HT2a is a G-protein coupled receptor that may also have influence on the visual cortex and the orbifrontal cortex.”

“What?” Danny said. 

“I see stuff, Danny,” Steve said. “I see emotions as colours -- auras. I interpret what I see. It’s not just a single biochemical on/off switch -- that’s complex processing involving physiology affected by chemistry, biology and physics.”

“And we don’t even have a working theory of how Commander McGarrett can manipulate the emotions of others,” Connor said. “That’s downright science fiction.” 

The young lady nibbled at her bottom lip, saying nothing. Hypotheses flickered in her eyes, but too ephemeral to voice. Danny let them lie, for the moment. 

“So lots of science and not a lot of progress,” Danny said pithily. “What are we going to do? How do I keep Steve safe?” 

Steve rolled his eyes, but surprisingly said nothing. 

“Well,” Bundaberg tapped his fingernails on the table top, “You could ask Sentinel Central.”

“No way!” Steve rocketed to his feet. “I am not becoming a slave to the institution.” 

Bundaberg remained impassive in the face of a suddenly angry six foot SEAL. Danny had to give the skinny old guy props for his equanimity. 

It was Danny’s turn to wrap a hand around a bandaged forearm and demand calm. 

“Can I?” The young woman put her hand up. 

“Go on, Hun,” Danny said. 

She flicked him a glance which for once wasn’t filled with respect, but a touch of annoyance at the familiarity. Danny accepted that. He would ask her name and use it. He was going to be asking her name and check that Connor’s surname was Smith plus their dates of birth and where they had studied for the background check before anyone left the office. He would also have Chin and Kono running surveillance until the background checks came in as clean.

“Sorry, _Doctor_ ,” he said. 

“Your first guide-absence seizure incidence was after you were attacked by Mrs. Brooke Malone.” She accepted the pocket-book sized e-tablet from Connor; the only electronic record of Steve’s guide-related medical history. “The second when you accidently calmed your entire neighbourhood. The third when you were involved with the intensive and ongoing aftermath of the tsunami. Finally, Tuesday’s incidence, which whilst rather strange, involved significant and ongoing use of your empathic abilities.” 

“Yes.” Steve slowly sat back down, intent on the young woman. 

“All those incidences involve both receptive and projective empathy, they were high stress situations, and--” she paused and took a deliberate breath, “--you evidently had no control.” 

“What are you saying?” Steve said. 

“Do you use your receptive and projective empathy without triggering absence seizures?” 

Unnervingly, Steve slid a checking glance at Danny. 

“Yeah, he does,” Danny answered. 

“So what you’re saying,” Steve said slowly regarding all three doctors, “is that I don’t go… overboard?” 

Trust Steve to use a nautical expression. 

“I don’t think that is possible, Commander McGarrett.” She dimpled a smile. Commander McGarrett and 5O’s shenanigans were well documented and reported throughout the Islands. “But gaining control would go a long way.” 

Steve looked to Danny and Danny looked to Steve and shrugged. When push came to shove, Steve resented being a guide. He had wanted to be a sentinel. But Danny knew that they were partners -- Sentinel and Guide – and Steve would not give that up. Uncharacteristically, however, Steve had not thrown himself into learning to use his abilities. They had, through Chin and Kono, found Kahuna Kila, who had offered advice and insight. Dad had advocated meditation and finding inner calm. However, Dad and Kila were not like Steve; they advocated quiet, reactive approaches. Steve was action, with cause and effect. But neither had he or Steve practiced, nor had they experimented, and they hadn’t really talked about being a sentinel and guide. They got on with cases, and life and being partners. They had been coasting. 

“And how,” Steve said with a sharp edge of sarcasm, “do you recommend I do that?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, “but not too far away from ‘Oahu is an entire island of guides -- ‘Aina. Perhaps you could ask someone there?” 

_**fin** _


End file.
